


A Midsummer Knight's Dream

by cobaltmoony, GoldBlooded



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A/B/O, ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Action & Romance, Alpha!Steve, Alpha!Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom!Bucky, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Knight Steve Rogers, Knotting, M/M, Making Love, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Omega!Bucky, Omega!Bucky Barnes!, POV Alternating, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Prince Bucky Barnes, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Romance, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Scenting, Schmoop, Soulmates, Stucky - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, kind of, power bottom bucky barnes, top!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-18 17:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltmoony/pseuds/cobaltmoony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldBlooded/pseuds/GoldBlooded
Summary: Sir Steven, knight, alpha, and baron of a small countryside estate, receives an invitation to a Royal Tournament: It’s a winner-take-all competition, and the prize? The hand of Prince James, the kingdom’s most eligible omega, in marriage.It seems like a lifetime ago that young Steven left the palace – and his best pal, the prince - to attend to his familial duties. Since that time, he’s dreamed of reclaiming his friendship with the prince; if not as a companion, then perhaps as a member of the prince’s guard.Prince James, royal, omega, and heir to the throne is tired of being reduced to his designation and pressured into an arranged marriage like a political pawn. He devises the tournament as a means to an end: winner claims his hand in marriage, but ifhewins? He’ll get to claim his own future.Let the tournament begin...





	1. You Are Always On My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018 collaboration with the supremely talented [cobaltmoony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltmoony/pseuds/cobaltmoony)!
> 
> Creating this fic has been a wild ride, but I'm immensely pleased with the final product, and I hope you are too!
> 
> This fic would not be possible without the numerous support systems cheering me on, the biggest of which are:  
> -[stfustucky](https://stfustucky.tumblr.com/), alpha reader and hand-holder extraordinaire. She kicked my ass and shepherded me into productivity and this story straight-up would not exist without her. She is due ALL the credit and more. Love you, babes. <3  
> -[Chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), beta reader and shoulder to cry on when this story just _refused_ to be written. She is stalwart and spectacular, and I am constantly blown away by her abilities.  
>  -[LeisurelyPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeisurelyPanda), whose bubbly encouragement gave me the strength to keep going just a couple hundred more words on days when I had to pull this story kicking and screaming into existence. His optimism and faith in me has kept me afloat these past few months.  
> -Several other members of this fandom, including but not limited to: LightningStriking, SamyJo, Bk_Betty, notlucy, lambchop33, and more. Their friendship, kind words, enthusiasm and commiseration helped pull me through to the light at the end of the tunnel when I was sure this fic was doomed to fail. 
> 
> Seriously, thank you guys SO MUCH. It means the world to me. 
> 
> Now, on to the story!

Crown Prince James Buchanan, son of the House of Barnes and first in line to the throne, and Lord Steven Grant, Heir Apparent to the House of Rogers and its Barony Estate, were born four months apart.

They were born as opposites: the harbinger for James’ late winter arrival was an unexpected snowstorm, and his mother fondly called him her Winter Prince. Steven’s birth heralded a break in the rains and a long, sunny summer that filled grain stores many times over. They were born as winter and summer; as calculating intelligence and hot-headed reaction; as melancholia and passion; as obedience and defiance; as duty to the throne and freedom to choose fate; as Bucky and Steve.

(Prince James didn’t want to be Prince James when he was with Steven, whose name he had always mispronounced. Steve, for his part, declared that he would call Prince James ‘Buh-canon’ and thus their lifelong nicknames began at the ripe old age of four.)

Steve’s father was Baron of Something-or-Other in some far-off, distant corner of the kingdom. He was also the King’s most trusted advisor, and as such, he and his family had lived near the palace Steve’s whole life - a fact that Bucky was grateful for every single day.

They were opposites in many ways, but instead of being polarized and alienated from each other, they complimented one another. Each filled and completed the other in a way that made them feel not quite right without the other there.

It was obvious, though, wasn’t it? It was so obvious that they - themselves only children - could see it a mile away. There was no Bucky without Steve; there was no Stevie without Buck. Without Steve, Bucky’s frosty eyes shone less bright; without Bucky, Steve’s melodic laughter was heard less often. It was obvious that they were born for each other.

It was obvious that they were in love.

What did it matter that they were only children?

\---

Steve loved Bucky.

He was funny and clever and knew all the best hideouts in the extensive stonework of the palace. He could spin the best tales to get their lessons cut short, and came up with the juiciest plot twists for their play stories, usually involving Steve as a knight kidnapping Bucky and them running off together to become bandits.

Steve loved life at the palace. He loved his days with Bucky, even when they had to sit through all of their tutors. Even when they endured lecture after lecture about propriety and designation roles, and were reprimanded for sneaking off to the far reaches of the palace grounds. (They thought this a worthy price to pay, since lazing around by the pond was endlessly more enjoyable than their lessons.)

When Bucky proposed marriage to him, Steve laughed with delight, but also confusion. When they had learned that marriage was two people who devoted their lives to one another, Steve just assumed that he and Bucky were already married. They had already spent their short lives devoted to each other and their happiness, but he said yes anyway.

Steve would continue to coax Bucky into smiling whenever the weight of his royal responsibilities became too heavy. He would continue to look into those steely eyes that turned sad when their stations in life stole the fun out from under them, and make them crinkle with laughter again.

That alone was Steve’s very favorite thing to do, and he’d do it every single day of his life.

He’d do it every single day...

...Until he couldn’t.

\---

Bucky loved Steve.

He was funny and clever and knew all the best hideouts on the palace grounds. He could make the sweetest doe-faces to get the kitchen staff to give them snacks and came up with the best playtime ideas, usually involving Steve as a trusty knight to protect Bucky’s honor.

Bucky hated life at the palace. He loved his days with Steve, even when they had to sit through tedious lessons and etiquette training. Steve always managed to brighten Bucky’s days, like stealing him away to sneak off through the hedgerows to climb the cherry trees. Or to get into fistfights with other palace children because they’d been about to squish a frog by the pond (to which Steve had howled at the cruelty and injustice and earned them both bloody noses and a new, secret pet).

Surely life without Steve would be gray and dull. This is why, at the tender age of six, after learning what marriage was, Bucky marched right up to Steve and proposed to him. Steve just laughed, rolled his eyes, and said _of course_ like them getting married was the most obvious thing in the world.

Bucky would continue to care for Steve whenever he caught cold or had a fever. He would continue reading to Steve or making him laugh when the only other noises to come out of him were harsh, rattling breaths. That was Bucky’s favorite thing to do.

So really, life was pretty perfect...

...Until it wasn’t.

\---

They say that death comes in threes.

At the age of thirteen, Lord Steven Grant could, in fact, tell you that this was true when he became the Baron of Rogers.

The first death was his father’s. He was taken suddenly and violently ill and was reduced from a man in the peak of health to being prepared for burial in the alarmingly short span of a week. It broke Steve’s heart; he had never known pain like this, had never known anguish down through his insides to a place so deep he didn’t know it existed.

Over the years, Bucky had regularly snuck into Steve’s bedchamber. After Baron Joseph’s death, it was every night. Steve remained stoic during the day - he had to, for Lady Sarah’s sake - but at night, in the safety of starlight and Bucky’s tight embrace, he fell to pieces.

After a few weeks, the sharp pain of new loss turned into something constant and aching, and Steve’s sobs tapered to watery eyes and only a few spilled tears. Bucky and Steve lay face to face in the moonlight, their legs twined together. Bucky reached up and wiped a tear from beneath Steve’s eye before it could make tracks down the bridge of his nose.

“What can I do, Stevie? Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”

Steve nearly fell to pieces again at that. The kindness and care Bucky had shown him the last few weeks was unparalleled, and Steve felt he owed Bucky a little something for it. He scooched his face even closer to Bucky’s, until they were breathing the same air, and gently pressed his lips to the prince’s.

“You’re already doing it. As long as I got you, Buck, I can handle anything in the world. Last few weeks just proves it.”

Bucky beamed at him and pressed his own kiss to Steve’s lips, a little longer than the first had been. Steve welcomed it, and it turned into something that had his stomach swooping and fluttering and doing all kinds of crazy things.

The longer the kiss went on, the weirder it got. It was too wet, and then there was too much tongue, then too much teeth. And then Steve tilted his head _just so_ , and their mouths slotted together like they had been meant to do that all along, and they found a rhythm. To the surprise of neither, they fit together perfectly. They were both still years away from presenting their designations, still just children, so there was no heat or passion. It was simple and chaste, and full of the innocence of pure love.

The second death was that of his mother’s Societal presence.

She could no longer stand to show her face at brunches, balls, or events of any kind. She could no longer stand to see the people and places her husband had loved so ardently as to nearly abandon his own estate. She could no longer stand Court, or the palace.

That, coupled with Steve needing to learn how to take over the running of the Barony Estate, meant that she was making the decision to take Steve back to their countryside home. He needed to connect with his roots, she said, meet the people now in his charge.

Though Steve, Bucky, and the King and Queen protested this decision, the heartbreak etched in every line of Lady Sarah’s face cut them short. After their affairs in the capital city had been settled, she loaded herself and Steve into a carriage bound for the western countryside.

Bucky and Steve cried over each other, and when Bucky ran after the carriage, tears streaming down his face, the chasm in Steve’s soul was torn open until it felt like part of his very body was breaking.

What is the winter, but a world of constant cold and dark without summer to take the edge off its harshness? What is the summer but a neverending heat wave without winter to temper it? What good is passion without the appreciation of melancholia? What good is freedom when life is only duty?

What good is half of a whole?

And so came the third death: the death of Steve and Bucky.

* * *

  
Time passed, as it is wont to do.

The aching hurt that came with the distance from Bucky turned into an old scar; forgotten until pulled the wrong way, but still sore all the same.

It had been nearly five years since Steven and Lady Sarah went to live in the countryside. Steven learned quickly enough that the estate was best left to the manager that handled the affairs while his father had been at the palace; the whole thing was a well-oiled machine, beneficial to both the Baron and the residents.

Instead of apprenticing the management of the estate, which needed him in title only, Steven had encountered a knight near his fourteenth birthday that changed his life. Sir Abraham was noble, kind-hearted, just, and fair. He was everything Steven aspired to be, and Steven told him so. Sir Abraham set him a series of tests to measure his worthiness (some of which he didn’t even know were tests), and Steven passed with flying colors.

He was a page for the next two years, and was coming up on his second anniversary as a squire. Sir Abraham said he saw great potential in Steven; that he had all the makings of not just a great knight, but a good man. (This, in Sir Abraham’s estimation, was more valuable than the title of knight.) Steven wished to be both, so he worked diligently to surpass his master’s expectations of him.

On this day, though, Steven didn’t feel much like a good man. He felt sad and broken, because it was the day of Lady Sarah’s funeral. Unlike the last time one of his parents died, when he’d had Prince James by his side, Steven was now totally alone in the world. He had no other family besides Sir Abraham now, but the knight had been called away on business and wasn’t able to attend, much to his chagrin.

Though Steven felt a hollow, aching loneliness, there were in fact a great many people in attendance. Lady Sarah had been well-liked in Court, and despite her years of absence, she was remembered fondly. Steven knew there was nobility and maybe even a minor royal entourage there to pay respects to the late baroness, but Steven knew only the cold numbness he wrapped around himself like Sir Abraham’s gleaming armor.

Steven kept his head low and blocked out the world, though the tightness in his chest threatened to erupt into an episode of breathlessness he hadn’t had for some years. There was a commotion and he was glad of the distraction and turned to look at what all the fuss was.

A royal entourage had just entered the echoing stone temple, and not a minor one, either. Both the King and Queen made their way through the pews and crowds, followed by Princess Rebecca and - _Prince James._

Steven hadn’t seen Prince James since he and Lady Sarah left the palace. The prince had grown tall and lithe, and the roundness of his childhood face had morphed into a blade-sharp jawline. His hair had grown well past his shoulders, half-done up in an intricate braid with a circlet adorning his brow. He wore the finest silks and had perfect posture. He didn’t look anything like the Bucky of Steven’s childhood, except that those steely blue eyes sparkled with intelligence, his straight nose was the same shape, and his lips were as distinct as ever.

Prince James remained at his place in the procession, eyes forward and genuinely somber. He didn’t notice Steven - not yet, at least - but once the squire set eyes on the prince, the tightness in his chest abated and he breathed easier.

\---

The funeral service itself was heartbreakingly beautiful. The temple sanctuary had been packed to standing-room only, full of those who would pay their respects to one of the kindest souls in the Kingdom. Steven thought that Lady Sarah would’ve been very touched at the showing of good faith, but Steven himself started to feel rather claustrophobic towards the end.

After the service finished, Steven took refuge in the temple gardens, sequestering himself under a tree near the intricate fountain. He was grateful for the silence, and took the time to try to figure out his place in the world without either of his parents. He knew the day must come eventually, but he just hadn’t expected it so _soon._

“Well, look who it is. The bereaved son.”

Steven was startled out of his own head by the taunting voice, and looked up to see Gilmore Hodge towering over him. Steven rolled his eyes. He was very much not in the mood for the alpha bully’s harassment that day.

“What do you want, Hodge?”

The taller man sneered. “I wanna know why someone so shrimpy, who hasn’t even had the decency to present a designation, thinks he’s better’n everyone else.”

Steven stood up, and looked Hodge square in the eye. Or, as square as he was able to from several inches shorter. He was fully aware that he was pushing the boundary of even a late-bloomer in terms of his lack of presentation at eighteen, and he was spitting mad to be reminded of it on the day of his mother’s funeral.

“You have no class or common courtesy. I don’t think that I’m better than everyone else, but I know I’m better than you.”

“Is that right?” Hodge puffed himself up and took a swing. Steven failed to dodge and took the hit square in the jaw, and it knocked him back into the tree. There was an indignant shout from a few yards away.

“Hey! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

Steven looked over to see Prince James striding angrily towards them. He had abandoned the fancy silks and circlets, and looked like any other noble’s son save for the icy rage he was glaring at Hodge. Hodge grinned at the newcomer, obviously ignorant of his identity.

“Makes no difference to me,” Hodge said, and then smelled something on the air before adding, “ _Omega.”_

Hodge took another swing that Prince James easily dodged. The prince took a few swings of his own that landed right on target. He was fast and skilled, making short work of going past the point of embarrassing Hodge and right up to the edge of true injury. Hodge ran away with his pride and clothes in tatters as the prince called after him.

“Go tell your alpha friends that you just got your ass handed to you by an omega!” he shouted, then turned to look down at Steven. His face immediately softened, and a small smile curled his lips. “Hey.”

Steven straightened up and looked at the Prince in awe. “Hey.”

“Been a while.” Steven could only nod, so Prince James continued. “Wanna go somewhere and talk?”

Steven nodded again.

They walked the gardens for a while before settling on a bench in the midst of a grove of white and pink lilies. They had been Lady Sarah’s favorite, and Steven felt his heart hurting. He swiped a hand through his shaggy blond hair, not yet long enough to pull back. The prince nudged him.

“How ya been, Stevie?”

The ache in Steven’s heart eased with the nickname, and risking impropriety, he grinned. “Been okay. How ‘bout you, Buck?”

The prince let out a hearty laugh like music, and Steven felt his body loosen. Something sweet - like pies baking - floated over to him on the wind, and he relaxed further.

“Missed you, pal. I’m sorry about your mom, wish I coulda been here for you.”

“That’s okay. You’re here now.”

Bucky’s eyes turned fond. “Yeah, I am. How’d it happen?”

Steven heaved a heavy sigh and blew it out slowly. “Got sick. Couldn’t shake it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Steve looked down and nodded, unable to speak. Bucky tossed an arm around him and pulled the squire close, and that simple act of solidarity was more comforting to Steven than all the words, letters, and bouquets in the world. The smell of pies was stronger closer to Bucky, and Steven swore he smelled mincemeat and warm, spiced mead, which was weird, considering it was spring. Eventually, he got his voice back.

“So, omega?”

Bucky heaved a sigh of his own. “Yeah. You?”

“Dunno,” Steven shrugged. “Haven’t presented yet.”

“Well, don’t rush it. Having a designation isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Ah, shit.”

Steve leaned away from Bucky and immediately missed the contact. He was momentarily stunned by the prince’s eyes, and how the steely blue reflected the spring sunshine so they were illuminated sparkling, bright turquoise. Steven felt his chest start to clench again, but in an entirely new way. He looked around to see what Bucky was upset about, and saw two knights rounding the hedgerow. Bucky heaved another sigh.

“My guards found me. Suppose it was inevitable. You were always better at giving them the slip than I was.” Bucky gave Steven a crooked grin. “Take care of yourself, Stevie. I won’t always be around to save your ass and I’d like it if you could keep it in once piece.”

Steven felt himself laugh - the first in months. “I’ll do my best. You take care too, Bucky.”

As the prince walked away, he picked one of the lilies and breathed in its scent, before turning back to look at Steven. He then gave the squire a blindingly beautiful smile before leaving the peaceful garden grove.

Steven sat on the bench a long while, feeling both better and worse. Better, because he’d seen Bucky, but worse, because Bucky was gone again. _That_ pain slotted itself right alongside the pain in his heart over losing Lady Sarah, but it also brought new clarity.

Steve was a squire.

Bucky’s guards were no less than full knights.

Once _he_ achieved full knighthood, if he was good enough, he could be chosen for the prince’s guard.

He’d never have to leave - or be left by - Bucky again.

\---

Later that night, Steven starting sweating profusely and kicked off the covers. His skin felt like it was on fire and he thought he must be bound for the grave like his mother. The uncomfortable itching turned into agonizing aching that lasted hours. During the worst, most intense pain, his whole body shuddered and he popped his first knot.

He could think of nothing but spiced mead and mincemeat pies.  


* * *

  
Time continued to pass, until it saw James grow from a young and naive teenager to a stalwart and clever man. The unease of having Steve gone from his life had grown so mundane that he became unaware of its constant existence.

On this particular morning, Prince James sat at the royals’ private breakfast table, spreading plum jam on his toast, trying not to roll his sleepy eyes at his father’s usual speech.

“Now that you’re a quarter of a century old, my son, you are the perfect age to settle down. The Kingdom needs the stability of a new heir. An omega with royal blood is a boon indeed! We could make a powerful alliance with a neighboring realm. Lord Rumlow has shown great interest-”

“No. Not him, never him.” James said icily. He tried not to grip his knife too hard and forced his shoulders to relax. “And why do I _have_ to get married? Can’t you let Becca rule, and I can be an advisor?”

His mother chimed in. “We’ve been over this, my darling,” she said, not bothering to glance up from where she was amending her tea with cream. “It’s not for us to choose our lives, it’s for us to do our duty in the caretaking of the kingdom. This involves making sacrifices. It’s the burden we must bear as the caretakers. An omega in line for the throne is a valuable asset, and must be made to have an advantageous alliance through marriage.”

The words _I’m not an asset, I’m a person_ choked James, but he swallowed them down. They would only fall on deaf ears.

Becca stirred her porridge and joked, “You could always have his suitors fight to the death! Then at least we’d get some entertainment out of the whole ordeal.”

The King looked at his daughter disapprovingly, and the Queen tried to hide her smile. James, on the other hand, was struck with inspiration. His whole body stilled while his mind rapidly pieced together an idea. Was it too outlandish? Or was it _just_ outlandish enough?

“James?” his mother asked, noticing the shift in his demeanor.

“Why not?” he blurted. The rest of the table stilled as well.

“Come again?” asked his father.

“Why not have a tournament? Invite only those of suitable standing to fight. Noble and royal alphas, all vying for the omega prince. A spectacle like that would surely draw the best suitors, wouldn’t it?”

The King and Queen were speechless with shock, but his sister looked at him with cautious suspicion. He tried to tell her ‘It’s okay! I have a plan!’ telepathically, and she must have caught the hint because she immediately sided with him.

“It would certainly take the fuss out of the whole thing. Whomever is worthy may enter, and whomever wins is unequivocally the best alpha for our royal omega. They’d have to have superior skills and knowledge to win such a thing,” she offered. Their parents were starting to look like they were considering it. “Besides, since it’s James’ idea, he can hardly say no to the marriage, can he?”

With that, the King let out a big, booming laugh. “A fair point, my darling! James, do you really want to do this?” The prince nodded earnestly, pieces of the plan still settling into place in the back of his mind. “Well, alright then. We’ll write up a suitable proclamation this morning and organize the specifics this afternoon.”

With that, they returned to breakfast. Afterwards, when James was dressing for his appointments for the day, Becca slid into his room.

“What the _hell_ are you up to?” she asked, concern written all over her face.

“It’s okay. I’ve got an idea. But we’re gonna need Natasha.”

Becca looked relieved. “Well, as long as Natasha’s in on it, we at least have a _chance_ of succeeding.”

“Here’s hoping,” said James. “Or I’ve just fucked myself for life.”


	2. And You Have Captured My Heart

The indoor training grounds at the palace were deserted, save for two figures sparring in the lamplight. The hour was unreasonable, but so was the plan they were preparing for.

“Are you serious? You can’t expect to win the tournament with a form so sloppy,” the spymaster admonished, whacking James on the shin with a wooden broadsword.

“I know, Natasha, I know. Just distracted today. My heat’s about to start and the tournament’s almost here. And your guy still hasn’t gotten me the paperwork so I can enter anonymously, and it’s making me anxious.”

The omega prince was flushed and breathing heavily, and wiped his brow. He shook his head as if to clear the noise from it, to no avail.

The small red-headed alpha quirked an eyebrow at him. “You know what helps with anxiety? Building confidence. Which you do through practice and focus. Now, _focus_ on your steps and _practice_ your parry so you don’t embarrass yourself next week.”

James closed his eyes and breathed deep a few times. When he opened them, he focused on Natasha, and any micro-movements she made. When she attacked again, he deflected perfectly.

“Better!” she praised. “You’ll be winning your own hand in marriage in no time.”

* * *

  
“Sir Steven, Sir Steven!” the page boy called, running full-speed down the flowered stone path until he skidded to a stop in front of his master.

Steven looked up from where he was sat in the sunshine of the manor gardens, sharpening his sword. His page was young and excitable, but he had to have some _very_ interesting news to be nearly vibrating out of his little boots.

“What is it, Peter?” he asked, slightly concerned at for the boy’s lungs.

“A royal invitation, sir!”

The knight’s brow furrowed. A royal invitation? What on earth for? He hadn’t had any communication with the palace since the Queen had knighted him by the roadside four years ago, after he apprehended some would-be thieves before they could attack her caravan.

The page’s doe eyes were wide as he looked up at the large alpha and handed him the crisp parchment envelope. Steven took it with curiosity brimming and applauded the boy.

“Thank you very much. Your speed is to be commended! You’ve earned a treat. Go tell the gardener to pick a bouquet for your aunt, and tell her she should be proud of you.”

Peter beamed at him. “Yes, Sir Steven! Thank you, sir!”

Steven laughed as the page ran through the garden with slightly less speed than he entered it, and looked down at the envelope. The ornate address read ‘Sir Steven Grant, Lord Knight and Baron of Rogers’ and Steven carefully broke the elaborate wax seal. He pulled out a thick card, engraved with an elegant script:

 _Royal, Noble, Knight, or other Alpha of Worthy Note:_  
_You are hereby invited to participate in a Royal Tournament_  
_Midsummer's Eve at the Palace Arena_  
_Entrants are exclusively selected by the King and Queen for their suitability_  
_Victor of the Championship Round wins the right to Mate and Marry_  
_His Royal Highness Crown Prince James Buchanan of House Barnes_  
_No response is necessary, however formal entry requires confirmation_ _  
of your eligibility as an Unmated Alpha of High Standing_

As Steven read the invitation, his eyebrows rose in intrigue, then surprise, then shock. Surely Bucky - Prince James, that is - would never have agreed to such an arrangement. Or maybe he did, and Steven didn’t really know the prince at all.

It wouldn’t be so surprising, considering they’d only talked for fifteen minutes since they were thirteen years old.

That thought broke Steven’s heart a little, and he resigned himself. He had made it his mission to become a great knight so that he might be chosen for the prince’s guard, but a chance to be his husband was even better. Sure, Steven might not be the perfect alpha: he was considered much too gentle and sentimental for someone of his designation. But he tried to be a good man, and felt sure that he would make no worse a mate or husband than any other contender.

In fact, he might make a pretty decent one. He and the prince _knew_ each other... or they had, in the past. They’d been friends; perhaps they could be once more. Bucky might never come to love him, but there were worse fates than being friends with your partner, Steven felt sure.

And, if he failed to win the prince’s hand, he could still be chosen for his guard. So really, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

His page came trotting back along the garden path, carefully cradling a bouquet of bright pink roses.

“Peter,” Steven called. “How would you like to see the capital city?”

* * *

  
Prince James was walking back to his chambers after a final evening of sparring practice before the tournament. He was sweaty, smelly, tired, and nervous. Natasha had given her stamp of approval and declared him as ready as it was possible to be, but still. When your whole life hinges on a single moment, it’s impossible not to be anxious about it.

James was in his head as he passed the scant few people in the palace halls on the way to his rooms, but one in particular shifted their path to block his.

“Evening, your Highness,” said a gruff and smarmy voice.

James looked up into the face of the last person he wanted to encounter at that moment, or ever.

“Lord Rumlow,” he acknowledged stiffly.

The alpha ostentatiously raked his eyes over the prince and inhaled his scent. “Well don’t you smell all sweet? What have you been up to? A beautiful omega like you should only be exerting himself in bed. Not,” he eyed the wooden sword slung over James’ shoulder, “Training for battle. There’s no need for it, if you’ve got a mate even halfway worth his salt.”

James looked at the other man coldly. He then drew himself up to his full height and put on the commanding air he’d been taught since he was a child.

“First of all, it’s insubordinate of you to ask a royal about their activities and whereabouts,” the prince said imperiously. Rumlow scoffed and it made James even angrier, and he continued.

“Second, you have addressed me in an unacceptable and obscene manner. Lastly, it is not for you - or _anybody_ \- to tell me or any royal what we should or should not be doing. I do not have to justify myself to the likes of _you_ or anyone except the King and Queen. Break etiquette again and I will have you thrown out of the palace.”

Rumlow only sneered. “That’s rich. Gonna have me thrown out of my own home?”

James’ blood ran cold with the implication. “Excuse me?”

The alpha dared to growl and step into James’ space. “When I win tomorrow, and that pretty little ass is all mine, I’m gonna show you who’s _really_ in charge. Teach you some respect.”

Wooden sword or not, the tip was still sharp, and given enough pressure could be used to impale. In a flash, the prince tilted it from his shoulder and stuck the point right under Rumlow’s chin, and stepped forward until the alpha was pressed against the wall.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re alpha or not. You will _never_ be superior to me. That’s how monarchies work; you might want to look that up. You lack class, manners, education, and common decency,” he spat. “Furthermore, you did not receive an invitation to participate tomorrow. You are banned from even _attending_ the tournament. And I will have you banned from the palace and thrown out of Court. The kingdom has no place for disgusting, small-minded barbarians like you.”

Rumlow actually had the gall to _laugh,_ right in Prince James’ face _._ “You can’t ban me! King George invited me personally. Wanted to make sure that there was a clear top contender.”

James froze in shock. He had specifically talked with his parents about not inviting Rumlow. That his father had conspired behind his back was the last straw. James no longer cared about the potential guilt that would come with embarrassing his father and king. He only cared about protecting himself.

While he stilled in surprise, Rumlow gripped the wooden blade and lowered it. He leered at the prince, and said, “Now, you run along to bed. I’ve gotta see a chambermaid about loosening the knots on my shoulders...and a knot of a different kind.” He gave a feral grin to James, and walked backward a few paces, ogling him once more. “I’ll see you tomorrow, before I win the tournament, and _after_.”

A trail of goosebumps broke out along James’ spine. He turned and hurried to his chambers, where he bolted the door and pounded a fist on it in frustration.

“Not if _I_ win it first,” he whispered to himself.

* * *

  
It was endlessly entertaining to watch Peter’s face as he and the page boy rode into the capital city. The child had been with Steven on other outings, sure, but this was the first time Steven felt him old enough to accompany his entourage to the Kingdom’s biggest city.

Peter’s eyes were wide as he took in the hustle and bustle of city life. The cobbled streets, the tournament banners, market vendors, nobility walking amongst the common, and the sheer number of people had the boy gaping like a goldfish.

“What do you think?” Steven asked his page.

“It’s... so much!”

Steven laughed. “It is, indeed. We don’t have any pressing matters after the tournament, so we can stay a little while to explore. But I do believe Miss May would hunt me down if I failed to return you in a timely fashion.”

“That’s completely true,” Peter agreed, craning his head at a street vendor selling sticky buns.

Steven turned around to motion to his squire, Kate, to treat herself and the page to a bun. Peter’s eyes turned delighted as she handed him the steaming confection. Kate, stoic as she tried to be, also looked pleased.

“Are we staying at the usual?” she asked, pulling her bun apart carefully.

“Of course,” he smiled at her, knowing that she was a sucker for the innkeeper’s outlandish stories.

Twenty or so minutes later they rode into the stable attached to the Pine and Grizzly, one of the best taverns in the city, in Steven’s humble opinion. (He may be biased because his friend Samuel ran the place, but then again the ale was legendary, so perhaps not.)

The stable boys took care of the horses and their equipment, and Steven, Kate, and Peter entered the tavern to be greeted by its handsome, smiling owner. Steven and Samuel laughed and hugged each other, and Kate and Peter both received handshakes from him.

Samuel introduced them to the companion he’d been talking to before they entered, Clinton.

“Oh, man, Clint is fine, please,” the man said as he shook Steven’s hand. Steven and Samuel claimed a table to catch up, leaving Peter and Kate to keep Clint company. Steve would have felt guilty if it weren’t for the pleased smirk on Clint’s face as he pulled a coin from Peter’s ear, only for the page to exclaim, “What! _How?_ ”

Steven and Samuel toasted their drinks before Samuel got down to business.

“So, the tournament. How you feelin’ about it?”

“I feel pretty good. I’m a fair fighter-” Samuel snorted into his ale at that, “-so all I can do is go out and try my best. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You’re more than a fair fighter, and you damn well know it.”

Just then, Peter scampered up to the table. “Um, mister Samuel?” he asked hesitantly.

“It’s Sir Samuel,” he said, in mock-seriousness. Peter blanched, and Samuel cracked a grin. “Nah, I’m messin’ with you. Call me Sam, okay?”

Peter looked both confused and a little terrified. “O-okay. Sam? Mister Clint says you make the best stew in the whole kingdom, and that if I asked _really_ nice, we could have it for dinner?”

Sam laughed. “Well, it’s _Riley_ that does the cooking, but I’ll let him know there’s been a request for it.”

Peter’s wide eyes sparkled with excitement, and he turned to run back to Clint. “Mister Clint, Mister Clint, Sam said…”

Steven shook his head. “You’re too indulgent.”

“No, I’m not.” Steven and Sam smiled and laughed at each other. “Besides, you’re gonna need something hearty to get you through that long day tomorrow.”

“You’re probably right.”

\---

The next morning, Riley made what was surely a delicious porridge, but Steven couldn't taste it. He’d barely been able to swallow around the nerves in his throat, but Sam said that if he wanted half a shot at winning, Steven would need the energy. So, he choked it down.

After that, Peter, Kate, and even Sam helped Steve into his gleaming blue armor. As they rode through the streets, he sat as tall and proud as he could on his horse, wanting to make a good impression. They approached the arena, and his nerves started to bubble even more.

He tried to keep a stoic face as the quartermaster with the eyepatch inspected his documentation, and for a moment Steven felt sure that somehow this was all a big joke, the King and Queen would never find him suitable for Prince James-

“Everything looks to be in order,” the quartermaster said. “What name or title do you want displayed on your placard?”

“Oh, uh, just the basics. Name and title, I guess,” Steven responded dumbly. The quartermaster looked thoroughly unimpressed, but had the placard painted as requested.

Steven was wished the best of luck by his little entourage, who went to find seats in the stands. Steven himself was ushered into the waiting area for combatants, and as he took his seat, he started to feel both calmer and more excited.

This was it. This was his chance to be close to Prince James forever.

* * *

  
The morning of the tournament dawned, and James woke to a bright and beautiful midsummer’s day. From the very moment he realized that it was tournament day, James felt steely resolve strengthen his bones.

He reluctantly went down to breakfast, which was a quiet affair. His family seemed both nervous and eager to see what the day had in store; James had no interest in speculating. He feigned a headache and excused himself to his rooms.

“You don’t want to see who wins?” the King asked him.

James gave him a fragile smile. “Does it matter if I see it? The outcome will be the same either way, and I’d rather not have a crowd screaming to make my head worse, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” his father acquiesced, and the prince took his leave. Instead of retreating to his chambers to rest, though, he found Natasha and Clint waiting for him.

They spoke encouragements while helping him into his armor. The fine plating was custom-made with a red star painted on the shoulder and black accents. A black mask covered the lower part of his face. The plan would only work if James was going to preserve his anonymity, so he needed to be careful about it. He supposed he could wear a full helmet, but refused to compromise his sight, and thus agility, in any way.

After being outfitted and checked for ease of movement and any vulnerabilities, the trio took several secret passages down to the arena. They appeared as inconspicuous as possible from a hidden door in the palace wall underneath the stands.

Clint had finally come through with the forged papers. At the registration queue, he handed them to James with one last ‘good luck kicking ass out there’ and then suddenly James was in line waiting to submit them to the quartermaster.

As he waited, James took in the pageantry of the tournament. There were banners and jesters and vendors and people everywhere, all buzzing about in excitement. Bookies made bets and food carts sold candied apples and sticky buns. Spectators filed into the stands, talking excitedly about the competitors and who they’d like to see win the hand of the Prince.

It made James’ stomach lurch to think of all of them watching him in the arena - hopefully winning - and what their reactions might be when they discovered his identity and designation. They were already opinionated on his potential mates; what might they say when he rejected them all?

As he waited in line, James heard what names and titles some of the other contenders requested be put on their placards. ‘The Iron Champion’ and ‘Hydra’s Fist’ were some of the more ridiculous choices. (Although James, with his placard to be emblazoned with ‘The Winter Soldier’, supposed he had little room to judge.)

The quartermaster, Sir Nicholas, quickly approved him. James felt confident that if the man had two eyes he would have winked at him. As it was, he shared the same expression that his red-headed protege often wore: completely blank, but with a glimmer in the eye that knew every one of your secrets.

Once his placard was painted, he entered the waiting area with the rest of the contenders. There were some faces he knew, some he didn’t; he understood that there were not just entrants from their kingdom but from others, as well. And if his father had deigned to invite Lord Rumlow, of all people, _anyone_ could be there.

James sat in near-perfect stillness, trying to preserve as much energy as possible. His eyes scanned the competition for potential strengths and weaknesses, and caught on someone with blue armor.

It looked like... _Steve?_

Or, Sir Steven now, apparently. He was carrying a shield with a knight’s crest on it, and he was so much _bigger_ , so much more handsome than James remembered. His jaw was thick, his golden hair long and pulled back, and his frame larger than most of the men there. All of that was new territory for James to take in.

Steven’s eyes, though? They were filled with the same magnanimity and _fight me_ that James remembered from childhood. Those were familiar. Those were James’ favorite eyes.

He took solace in knowing there was at least one entrant there, should James himself fail to win, that he probably wouldn’t mind being mated and bonded to.

The prince decided right then to ensure Steven as a contingency plan, however he could.

\---

James stayed in the quiet shadows for the opening of the tournament. He listened to the herald announce the King, and then gave into the ever-present urge to roll his eyes at his father.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, citizens of this fair kingdom, welcome to the Royal Tournament!” the King boomed. “All entrants have been hand-selected and vetted, with Crown Prince James’ forehand knowledge and consent.” James snorted at that. “As the King, I declare it law that _whoever_ emerges as the champion of this tournament, wins the right to mate and marry the Crown Prince.”

The decree both churned James’ stomach and sealed his fate. It was law now: whoever won, himself included, earned the right to the rest of his life.

There was no going back now.

He sat with his back to the arena’s battleground for the first matches of the tournament. He looked up every once in a while to see who had been victorious, and was glad that Steven won his preliminary without a scratch on him.

When it was James’ turn for his first match, he was paired with someone unfamiliar that apparently had very little training. It took James only a few minutes to defeat the contender efficiently, almost _brutally_ , but he was fighting for his future; he couldn’t afford to hold back.

The rest of the first round matches were fought, and the victors moved up to the second tier. James watched the board on the arena with the tournament bracket, and saw ‘The Winter Soldier’ paired with ‘Lord Rollins’ for his next match. Another pairing caught his eye: ‘Lord Knight Steven Grant’ versus ‘Hydra’s Fist,’ and James had a suspicion about just who the ‘Fist’ was.

That match would be the first fought in the next round, and James watched with interest as the herald announced Steven - _Sir_ Steven, now, he reminded himself - who took his place in the center of the arena. Sure enough, as ‘Hydra’s Fist’ was declared his opponent, Rumlow swaggered into the arena as well.

The crowd cheered and the combatants took their stances. Rumlow looked larger than life in his massive armor; it was meant for show and to enhance strength, but would slow him down immensely. Steven’s blue armor was also heavy, but had more restraint and finesse to it. He looked like he could move around easily, which would be valuable against an opponent who seemed to be channeling pure brute strength like Rumlow.

The herald signaled the beginning of the match, and Rumlow lunged at Steven, who ducked out of the way. There was another lunge, a wild swing with the massive broadsword that Rumlow wielded, and an expert block by Steven with his shield.

It went on like that for a few minutes: Rumlow using his strength to create a frenzy of blows that Steven blocked and parried easily. When Rumlow started to tire, Steven made moves that quickly ended the match: a feint and turn, a kick to the back of the knee, and a sharp blow with the hilt of his sword to Rumlow’s head.

Within seconds of Steven getting behind him, Rumlow was face-down in the sand, unconscious and defeated. James thought he had never seen Rumlow look so good.

\---

James’ second match, against Lord Rollins, was a little more intense than his first, but still a fairly easy win. Rollins had trained with the army and been a soldier, so he was used to combat. What he was not used to, however, was the fast and rogue-like fighting style that James had learned from Natasha.

Rollins was quick, but James was quicker. Rollins and his sword cut and lunged at James, and his whole weight was behind each movement, for maximum damage. What James had learned from Natasha, tiny thing that she was, was how to use his opponent’s momentum against them.

On a swing that was so powerful Rollins nearly turned around when it sliced only air (James had ducked to the side), the prince grabbed the wrist of the hand holding Rollins’ sword, and pulled him even further around and yanked down _hard._ Rollins was unable to correct the imbalance and fell in a tangled heap to the sand.

James lightly placed his foot on Rollins’ back and pointed his sword at the back of Rollins’ neck. Rollins tried to untangle himself, but it was too late: James had already been declared the winner. He looked up to the stands where his family was seated, and saw the displeased frown on the King’s face. His mother, however, looked relieved. Becca gave him a wink and an encouraging smile.

* * *

  
The tournament was well underway, and Steven was pleased with the results so far. He was victorious in his first two matches, and hoped to be again. He had been watching the others fight, and was able to tell who was serious competition and who was fighting out of obligation.

Many went down in the first two rounds whose hearts weren’t in it. Some were there because the King and Queen had invited them and they didn’t want to refuse; some were there because their parentage or titles necessitated it; some were there because they lusted after the handsome prince; some were there simply to have a good time fighting.

There were only two other fighters who seemed to be real threats to Steven. One was called Thor (though his placard said Lord of Thunder), whose father was king of a nearby realm. He was a very skilled fighter, but was only there because his father told him to be.

The other was known only as the Winter Soldier. His face was obscured by a mask, he kept to himself and talked to no one, and he seemed to have little interest in anything except his matches. His motivations remained a mystery, though the carefully controlled economy of movement and the swift ruthlessness with which he fought sent a clear message: the Winter Soldier was there to win.

After all of the second round victors had been determined, there was a midday break while the spectators and entrants alike were given time to rest and eat. Steven looked for the Winter Soldier, though whether to watch him or try to speak to him he wasn’t sure. The Soldier disappeared entirely during the break and reappeared just before the semi-final matches began.

The other conspicuously absent person was Prince James himself. Steven had been keeping an eye where the royal family was watching over the proceedings, and while the King, Queen, and Princess were there, closely monitoring the events, the Prince was nowhere to be found. Steven had to stop himself from glancing up every few seconds, because the lack of James tangled his stomach tighter and tighter each time he dared look.

Steven was against Thor next, and was hopeful that his skills and intentions would be enough to outmatch his opponent. Steven wasn’t there to win James as a trophy; not that Thor seemed to be all that interested in that either. From what Steven could tell, Thor had a sweetheart at home. And while Thor would try his best in combat, he would not be brokenhearted to return to said sweetheart.

Steven was only interested in winning the right to be matched with Prince James, and he’d certainly _ask_ if James would like to be mated to him. If James said no? Well, Steven would be happy to have him back in his life in any capacity.

In what felt like no time at all, Steven found himself face to face with the Lord of Thunder in the arena. The man was huge - bigger even than Steven himself - but Steven had watched Thor in his previous matches and knew him to be deceptively quick.

The fight commenced with Steven immediately defensive while Thor took a swing with his ax. Steven dodged and thrust with his sword, which Thor parried. They danced around each other, attacking and blocking continuously, while the hits escalated in intensity.

They were very evenly matched, Steven quickly found out. Except Thor wielded only his ax without a shield of any kind, and left his opposite flank open with every swing. It took several minutes of battle before Thor gave him an opening and Steven took it. In a flash of movement almost too fast for Steven himself to follow, Thor was on his knees before him, and the crowd applauded his victory.

\---

Steven carefully watched the Winter Soldier during the Soldier’s match with Duke von Schmidt. They were both large men with ruthless fighting styles and it was the most ferocious battle yet. At times Schmidt looked almost murderous, as if he would rather end the fight in spilled blood than abide by tournament rules. The Soldier held his ground and got in a few good blows, amping up his brutality to match the Duke’s.

Steven hoped for his own sake and the sake of the prince that the Duke did not win. He didn’t fancy the idea of fighting someone who seemed hell-bent on a fight to the death, nor did he think such a man was fit for Prince James. To his immense relief, there was a flurry of blows and then an acrobatic flip from the Winter Soldier, who then knocked the Duke’s sword into the arena sands.

The Soldier reached out to grasp the Duke’s throat in a vice grip with his left hand, and with his right he pointed his sword at the Duke’s heart until the Duke raised his arms in surrender, face still murderous.

\---

The semi-finals were over and Steve stared at the tournament bracket on the arena wall, where the placards reading ‘Lord Knight Steven Grant’ and ‘The Winter Soldier’ were hung in the championship square. Sam came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder, offering a mug of water for Steven’s parched throat. He gratefully accepted and handed his shield to Peter for cleaning before the final match.

Combatants and assistants and passersby of all kinds wished him well, but it didn’t help his nerves. This was it, the championship battle. James was either going to end up with him or the Winter Soldier, and now that Duke von Schmidt was out of the way, Steven was ready to tear this guy apart. He was vicious and cold-blooded and Steven didn’t want him _anywhere near_ Prince James.

Seconds before the championship battle, Steven dared to look at the royal family’s box one last time, but there was still no Prince James. Steve’s heart and stomach both dropped, but it didn’t change his resolve. He would still protect the prince at all costs. He took a fighting stance and turned to stare his opponent down.

It was the first time he’d actually looked the Winter Soldier in the eyes, and Steven could swear there was something familiar about them. He didn’t have time to think it over any further as the match began and the Soldier came at him, hard and fast and brutal.

It was different, seeing that incredible power and speed up close. It was also far more difficult to manage than Steven had originally thought. For each strike that the Winter Soldier threw at him, Steven had to scramble to duck, parry, and block. He used his shield heavily - and for a few minutes, almost exclusively - until a ringing blow knocked it from his arm and it clattered away.

Steven had only his shortsword and fist. The Soldier came bearing down, eyes flashing cold intent, and Steven blocked a blow with his bare arm. As he was blocking, the edge of the Soldier’s broadsword shimmied right in between the armor plates on Steven’s right arm, and the motion of the block with the slide of the sword’s retrieval left a gash in Steven’s bicep.

The blow incensed Steven. While the Soldier was getting a grip on his sword, he used his free fist to cold-clock the Soldier right in his mask, which started to loosen. The Soldier’s eyes went wild and his hand flew up to secure his mask. Huh. He didn’t want anyone knowing his identity. _Interesting._

Steven took the moment of hesitation to sprint to where his shield had landed and scooped it up, feeling whole on the battlefield once more. The Soldier slowly stalked towards him, eyes narrowed with savage intent. Steven suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and was overwhelmed with the sensation and sudden realization that he was being hunted.

That revelation, coupled with the ache in his arm, made Steven _livid._

The Winter Soldier approached, footfalls remarkably light for someone wearing full armor. Steven’s hackles raised and he decided to switch to an offensive attack. He leaned into a forward stance and charged towards the Soldier, who raised his sword.

  


 

Steven feinted, ducked and rolled, trying to get around to the Soldier’s backside, but the Soldier was just too quick, and by the time Steven was on his feet again, he was face to face with the Soldier once more. Steven had to dodge and parry counterstrikes that had so much power behind them it made his teeth rattle.

If he had any room in his brain for spare thoughts beyond _fight_ and _win_ and _Bucky,_ they were consumed with questions about the Winter Soldier. Who the hell was this guy? Where did he come from? Why the _fuck_ did he want to win the Prince’s hand in marriage so badly?

Their obvious match in skill, speed, and strength made the fight long and arduous. Every time one of them would get the upper hand, the other would grab it right back. Blow for blow, strike for strike, neither could gain enough footing or leverage to take down the other. It was hard, fast, intense, and exhausting.

Steven could tell when they had both peaked at the same time: their movements became slightly heavier and sluggish, though there was still plenty of strength and speed behind them. Steven hoped his motivations would rally him into the gaining the upper hand. But if the Winter Soldier had similar hopes, they were working, because the pair remained locked in a stalemate of frenzied slashes and jabs.

Some instinct in the back of Steve’s brain reminded him to _go for the mask, that’s his weakness_ and Steven did just that. He struck out with his shield to disorient the Soldier, and used the hilt of his short sword to knock the mask slightly askew. Steven had no interest in pulling it completely off; he merely wanted the distraction so he could end the fight.

It worked.

As soon as the Winter Soldier’s mask loosened again, he reached up to fix it, leaving his entire torso unguarded. Steven pulled back his shortsword to strike, and then-

He smelled spiced mead and mincemeat pies.

The split-second confusion rendered him immobile and he faltered, arm back and sword ready. Steven looked into the Soldier’s eyes and his brain screamed at him that he _knew those eyes_ and he _knew that scent_ and there was only ONE person in the world that had both-

There was a harsh kick to Steven’s chest, hard enough that through the layers of armor the air was knocked from his lungs. Steven collapsed to his knees, shakily drawing in breath, and stared up at Prince James in awe.

“ _Bucky?”_

* * *

  
The crowd cheered with applause so thunderous James could barely hear himself think.

He had done it. He had actually, _truly_ done it. He was elated. He was over the moon.

He was suddenly flooded in fear.

James was immediately worried that as soon as his mask was removed and his identity revealed, the King would renege his earlier proclamation... and James’ right to not be married would be rescinded.

“The Winter Soldier wins!” The herald declared. “And in accordance with His Majesty King George’s law, in victory The Winter Soldier has won the right to mate and marry His Royal Highness, Crown Prince James Buchanan!”

A couple of royal servants ushered him from the battle arena (and Steven, who was giving the Soldier a strange look) and up to the box with the royal family. Becca was cheering and crying, and the King and Queen both looked concerned at the identity - or lack thereof - of their new son-in-law.

“Welcome!” the King said loudly, so everyone in attendance could hear.  “Who may I announce has won the hand of my son and heir?”

James’ heart pounded so hard he thought it might beat right out of his chest. He stole a glance at Becca, who gave him a little nod in encouragement. He slowly reached up and pulled the mask off, and a hush fell over the entire arena. James gulped, and spoke in a clear, yet shaky, voice.

“His Royal Highness, Crown Prince James Buchanan of House Barnes, is the Champion of the Royal Tournament. And by His Majesty’s decree, declared law at the opening of the tournament, has won the right to marry nobody at all.”

The crowd was muttering, but James paid only attention to his parents. His mother looked pleased, and his father looked...strangely proud.

“My son, Crown Prince James, by my own decree, has indeed won the right to marry no one. He has also shown cleverness, resourcefulness, and expert skill in battle today. These are all traits of a great leader, and Prince James has done House Barnes, his kingdom, and his father proud.”

King George leaned in and gave Bucky a tight hug, and his mother joined in with misty eyes.

The crowd cheered thunderously once more.

\---

In all his dreaming and planning, James could never have expected that being able to choose his own fate could be this liberating. He felt like a huge burden had been lifted from his soul. To add an even greater depth of appreciation to the outcome, he hadn’t even started a cataclysmic argument with his father.

James was now dressed in his finest silks and headed down to the victory banquet. It had been planned as a dual victory and engagement feast, but James was happy to have the event be a singular function. He waded through the crowd, accepting well-wishes and congratulations with a genuine smile.

Halfway to the great hall, he caught sight of someone he hadn’t known he’d been looking for until he saw him.

“Sir Steven!” James called.

The knight caught sight of him and immediately lowered into a deep, gracious bow.

“Your Highness,” Steven greeted. “Congratulations on your victory.”

James grinned at him. “You fought valiantly today, and were the worthiest of  opponents.” Steven’s cheeks turned pink, and James thought it positively adorable. “Would you care to join me for dinner?”

“At the royal table?” Steven asked. “I thought that was reserved for your future husband… or whomever... would sit there under changed circumstances,” he amended awkwardly.

James just kept smiling. When had his old friend’s dorkiness become so _charming?_

“Well, I suppose it could be left vacant, but I’d much rather have you as company.” Steven’s blush deepened. “Besides, surely a runner-up is a good substitute, especially in this instance?”

“Whatever your Highness wishes,” Steven said with an acquiescent nod of his head, and offered his arm to James.

They strolled towards the hall, and James suddenly felt buzzy and almost drunk, though he hadn’t yet sipped any wine or ale.

“It’s been a long time,” Steven remarked, with sparkling eyes on James. “I’m looking forward to getting to know the man you’ve grown into.”

If James positively _melted_ at those words, it was nobody’s business but his own.

* * *

  
Steven tried to keep his cool as he escorted the prince to the head table. They took their places, Prince James sitting next to his mother and Steven next to him, and Steven tried very hard to stifle the feeling that by James’ side was right where he belonged.

(He did not succeed.)

The king gave a welcoming toast, commended Prince James on his victory once more, and bade all attendants eat their fill. Instead of reaching for the food trays, however, the prince poured himself and Steven glasses of wine. They quietly toasted each other, and as Prince James took a sip, his eyes appraised Steven.

“You fought well today,” said James.

Steven’s insides turned to goo at the compliment. “As did you, your Highness.”

James smiled warmly. “So, _Sir_ Steven, when did you get knighted?”

Steven proceeded to tell him the story of how he met Sir Abraham and his road to knighthood, and they spent the rest of the feast in their own little bubble of quiet conversation. Anytime a well-wisher would congratulate the prince, Steven felt as if he was being jarred out of another world entirely- one where only he and James existed.

The food was excellent and the wine sweet. The golden torchlight of the hall made James’ dark hair shine a gilded copper, and his eyes were almost green in the warm light. Between that and James’ wine-rosy lips, Steven had a very difficult time indeed staying a respectable distance from the prince.

The evening wore on, and Steven felt intoxicated by the wine and by James’ spicy scent. He knew he needed to get some air lest he do something unthinkable, like close the ever-decreasing distance between them and taste James for himself. Steven had a feeling that James would taste just as spicy-sweet as Steve imagined, and he yearned to know for sure.

As that thought danced across his mind, Steven knew he was veering into dangerous territory and needed to excuse himself. But after so long away from the prince, he couldn’t bring himself to part from James just yet, so he did the next best thing.

“It’s getting kind of warm in here. Would you like to go for a walk?”

James’ sparkling eyes danced. “A moonlight midsummer stroll with a handsome knight?” he asked, teasingly. “How could I ever resist?”

Steven was glad the room was indeed a little hot, because his overheated cheeks masked the pleased blush that blossomed from such a statement. They politely excused themselves, and made their way towards the garden.

While the nighttime summer air was also warm, it wasn’t stifling as the hall had been. The breeze washed over him and Steven felt his head start to clear and his cheeks cool. Next to him, James took a deep breath and slid a hand to encircle Steven’s bicep so they would be walking not just side by side, but together.

“Last time we were in a garden together,” the prince commented idly, “You were getting into a fight and I had to step in.”

Steven huffed in amusement. “I think that was _anytime_ we were in a garden together.”

James let out a melodic laugh, and suddenly his whole face was transformed. The stress lines became happy, his observant eyes sparkled with mirth, and his grin was infectious. Illuminated by the light of the moon and wearing no emotion except pure joy, Prince James was _breathtaking._

If ever Steven had thought he might stay by the prince’s side as a loyal companion and completely platonic, then this moment had just shattered that shaky illusion.

“You’re absolutely right. We had some pretty good times, didn’t we?” James said, still grinning at Steven.

Steven felt himself mirroring the smile. “The best of my life,” he said honestly.

Prince James seemed pleased by this answer, because his expression turned into something that looked a little like longing.

“Do you have to go back right away? To your estate, I mean.”

Steven surveyed James, at how his eyes were everywhere but on Steven, how his head was slightly lowered as if he were afraid of the answer. It made Steven want to bring back that fleeting expression of joy, whatever the cost.

“I’ve no urgent business that needs attending, no,” he said, and basked in the warmth of James’ renewed happiness.

\---

They walked in the midsummer night, air fragrant with the garden’s blossoms, until they couldn’t stifle their yawns any longer. Steven escorted James back inside the palace and through the halls, though he stopped when one of the portraits they passed caught his eye.

There was Prince James, looking regal in silks. His gaze was coy, like he had other things that were much more important that needed attending to, which was probably true. His left hand was visible, wearing a gauntlet and holding...a pink and white lily.

 

  
Steven stared at the painting, at the hand, at the flower.

“Why the lily?” he asked, his heart aching. The last time he saw a lily with such coloring was the day of his mother’s funeral, when he and James shared a bench.

James was looking down and his cheeks were flushed. “Because...they remind me of home. Of you.”

If it wouldn’t break every rule and etiquette ever known to exist, Steven would have scooped James into an embrace right that second. Instead, he cleared his throat.

“...And the gauntlet?”

James huffed a sigh. “Nobody sees me as anything but delicate and tender. Something to wrap in silks and give flowers. Which is fine. But I’m also a warrior, even if that part of me is mostly kept hidden away. People don’t see it, but it’s there.”

Steven’s indignation rose. James was a complex and interesting person, and it was nothing short of a travesty that people tried to simplify him, to strip him down so he was easier to pin a label on.

“I bet they see it now,” Steven reminded James with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

James beamed again. “Yeah, I guess they do.”

\---

Steven bade Prince James goodnight at the base of the palace’s grand staircase. After watching the prince elegantly ascend, he turned to make his way to the stables. He was surprised that he remembered several of the shortcuts and hidden passages from his childhood, and made it to the stables in about half the time it would have normally taken.

He rode back to the Pine and Grizzly with a heart full of liquid gold. It was late enough that the stable boys had turned in for the night, so he took care of his mare, Star, on his own. He petted her on the nose and wished her pleasant dreams and stepped into the tavern as quietly as he could.

Sam was still waiting up for him, eyes sleepy but curious.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

Steven tried to think of an appropriate answer to convey the evening’s events and how he had been invited to stay so that he and the prince could get reacquainted. He tried to tell Sam how he felt about this, how he would need the room for longer than expected, how he would need to borrow some parchment so he could write to Peter’s aunt, but he couldn’t say any of it.

He could only smile.

“That good, huh?” Sam asked, grinning. Steve’s smile widened, but he remained silent. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said Sam, and clapped him on the back. “Come on, been a big day. You need some rest.”

Sam herded him up the stairs, and as Steven prepared for bed, he felt lighter than he had since he was thirteen years old. He laid down, and when sleep overtook him, Steven would swear that he was floating on a cloud.

 


	3. I Am In Love With You

It was incredible how James managed to feel guilty about roaming the grounds of the palace. No one was going to tell him no, of course, and no one was going to question why he was taking a mid-day jaunt down to the training yard instead of taking his lunch in the private royal dining room with Becca as usual. Nevertheless, James felt a little spark of mischief when he considered that if someone _were_ to ask him why, he’d have to lie… or tell the truth and admit that he was looking for a certain knight.

James found him in the open, grassy area. Steven was in his element here: he’d always been scrappy and quick to get himself into a fight when they were kids, but now he could actually hold his own and then some. He was every inch the powerful and calculating opponent that James had seen at the tournament as he swept his opponent’s feet out from under him and pinned him to the ground with a move that looked almost lazy.

It was certainly a sight to behold.

The two sparring partners broke apart after the one in the grass yielded, and Steven accepted a cup of water that a spectator handed him. He didn’t stop moving, probably attempting to avoid cramps. He instead walked a little ways away from the ring and rolled his shoulders and neck as he drank. The wind shifted, and Steven finally caught James’ scent, and his head whipped up so he could beam across the distance between them.

Steven covered that same distance in a few long strides. “Your Highness,” he said with a little bow, ever respectful of James’ rank and all the many listening ears of the palace. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know if you noticed the other day, but I do know how to fight,” James teased, his smile small and private. “I’ve been to the training yard once or twice.”

“True, but probably not in silks.”

He had James there. “I came and do a little investigation, if you must know,” James smoothly lied. “I heard talk that there was some brute out here kicking all of my soldiers’ asses. I had to see to it before my palace was left completely without able-bodied defenders.”

“Oh, you’ll never be without those,” Steven laughed, a hearty sound that came along with crinkling eyes and a pleasure that lit up his face like the sun. “I haven’t been able to kick _everyone’s_ ass,” he explained, sending a meaningful look to Natasha where she sat looking distinctly unruffled and unimpressed on an overturned bucket. “You’re lucky _she_ wasn’t invited to compete in the tournament.”

“Lucky indeed,” James agreed gravely. “Don’t feel bad about Nat, though. If even a tenth of the stories are true, she fought a giant once and still managed to stay standing through the fight.”

“That’s very comforting, thank you,” Steven grinned. He looked as if he was going to say more, but was interrupted by a call from one of the soldiers queued up to take their beating. “Er, I guess they’re ready to start again. Are you planning on sticking around?”

He looked hopeful, and a little blossom of warmth started in James’ chest at the idea that Steven wanted him there. “I might, for a while,” he said coolly, even as he decided to have a servant fetch him some lunch he could enjoy outside. “If there’s something worth watching.”

A little spark of determination lit up Steven’s eyes, and he nodded. “I’ll do my best, your Highness,” he vowed, nodding his head once more before he returned to his fighting.

If he’d been skilled and efficient in his dispatching of adversaries before, now Steven was all but emanating power. The biggest, burliest alpha that James had in his rotation of personal guards barely lasted a full minute in the circle with Steven, and _that_ was the most impressive display of resistance James had ever seen.

It might have been just a coincidence that Steven upped his game after seeing James. The prince considered this from the sidelines as Steven knocked his third opponent in sixty seconds to the ground and immediately looked over at James for a reaction.

Then again, maybe not.  
  


* * *

  
Prince James had asked Steven to stay a while so they could get to know one another again, and Steven was delighted to be able to spend more time with him. Although as much as he wanted to, Steven couldn’t follow the prince around like a lost puppy. He understood the responsibility that James bore, but he wished the prince had a little more time to breathe. Unfortunately, this left Steven with a lot of time when he wasn’t with James, and he couldn’t just pine away for him in the gardens all day.

It wasn’t all marathon training sessions in the palace grounds, either. (Though, the alpha part of Steven that was so desperate to impress James with his strength and skill wouldn’t have minded if he’d been allowed to just show off in the training yard every day.)

Whatever time Steven set aside for teaching had become superfluous while his apprentices were seduced by the many fascinations of the capital city. Kate appeared to have an interest in archery, and a knack for it, too, going by the praises Clint sang during evenings at the tavern.

Peter, curious child that he was, had become enchanted with the royal apothecary. He spent most of his time asking the shopkeepers questions about science, alchemy, and philosophy. Steven had gone to make sure Peter wasn’t being a nuisance, and collect him if necessary. Then he saw the idiosyncratic men who ran Banner & Stark, their mutual fascination with Peter, the joy on the boy’s face, and decided to let them be.

However, there were other things to be done besides primal displays of strength and furthering his students’ educations. Steven needed to negotiate with the blacksmith for some new weapons for his men back at the estate. He also wanted speak to the minister of agriculture about finding a new crop that would be easier for his tenants to grow in the rocky soils of the western countryside.

He also wanted to befriend the royal piemaker. The pies at the feast had been delicious and he was _not_ returning to the estate without the recipes. Besides, if he remembered correctly, she had always been rather sweet on him and the prince when they were boys, so he felt his chances were good.

Between his duties and James’, their paths hardly crossed. He remembered the prince having lots of lessons to attend when they were children, but it was nothing compared to the strict and demanding schedule he had now. Occasionally they’d see each other in passing, and Steven always received a smile, but that was about it, until a week or so after the tournament.

Steven was tucked away in Weaponsmith Rhodes, the proprietor of which was a personal friend of Sam and came highly recommended. Steven, impressed with the quality and selection offered, was testing the balance of a potential new sword for himself when he startled from hearing a throat clear behind him.

On instinct, he shifted the hilt firmly in his palm and whirled to level the blade at the intruder - which, to Steven’s great surprise, was the prince himself. James reached up calmly and brushed the tip of the sword away with the back of his hand.

“I’m glad I left my guards outside, then,” James said with great amusement. “Pretty sure they’d try to throw you in a dungeon for that one.”

Steven quickly and sheepishly lowered the sword. “My apologies, your Highness. You caught me off guard.”

“So I see. Looking for a new sword?”

“Thinking about it. I like mine just fine, it’s a very nice sword,” he explained, returning the blade in his hand to its hook on the wall with a shrug. “But it was made for me before I presented, when I was a lot smaller. I’d like to try something with a little more heft to it now.”

“Makes sense, since _you_ have more heft to you now,” James returned with a smile. “Speaking of all your muscles and bravery, I was wondering if you’d do something for me.”

 _Anything!_ Steven’s brain supplied at once, before he reminded himself to have a little self-control. Surely he could act like a normal person for a minute.

“Anything,” his mouth supplied without his consent. Damn it.

It made James grin, though, which is worth his embarrassment. “That’s an awfully big promise, Sir Steven. Luckily, there are no dragons to be slain today. Just...would you go with me to a party?”

“A party?” Steven blinked stupidly over at James. “What kind of- why?”

“A garden party,” James replied, rolling his eyes to show what he thought of the idea. “I’ve been informed that my presence is non-negotiable. They didn’t expressly tell me that I couldn’t invite company, though. I thought maybe we could take the opportunity to spend some time together. If you want to, that is. You’re under no obligation to attend,” he finished formally.

Steven didn’t even stop to consider whether he wanted to go. It was enough that Bucky was there and asking him to come, and desired Steven’s presence by his side. It felt familiar, and Steven was helpless to say anything but endlessly, unhesitatingly, yes.

\---

It had been a long time since Steven attended a party like this, and for good reason: nobility gathered to mill around and talk about nothing of consequence was not his idea of a good time. They had never been to either man’s liking even when they were just boys, and Steven could remember that Bucky usually lasted all of an hour before he was taking off between the legs of his father’s bannermen in search of something more fun, with Stevie hot on his heels.

Things hadn’t changed much in twenty years, all things considered: both would rather be anywhere else, and Steven was always just a step behind James. The fact that they were together made it a little more bearable.

They wandered the garden side by side, enjoying the sunshine and making at least some modicum of conversation with everyone they met. Steven received a good deal of compliments on his performance in the tournament, much to his simultaneous embarrassment and pleasure. James did too, though Steven was more than a little irritated to notice that almost every congratulation on the prince’s victory came with a caveat of, ‘Such a shame that you won’t take a mate, though. You’ve grown into such a beautiful omega, Your Highness.’

Steven supposed it was probably meant to be a compliment, and he certainly would never argue against the point that James was the most beautiful omega that he’d ever laid eyes on. But James’ smile turning brittle and forced every time such a comment was made was enough to make Steven wish they’d all kept their underhanded compliments to themselves.

He could see the repetition wearing on James, making him more and more cross every time he had to suffer the commentary, until Steven guided them to a less populated area of the garden and suggested that James sit down and take a break.

It wasn’t private by any stretch of the imagination; two of James’ personal guards tailed the duo into the tangle of tall hedges towards the edge of the grounds. Though the guards positioned themselves with their backs to Steven and James, eyes turned outward to watch for threats, Steven wasn’t fooled. He knew perfectly well what the hearing range of a trained alpha was, and they were definitely within earshot. But at least there were no strangers here; no one pressing James for information or reducing all his many good qualities down to his designation, so that was something.

“Are you alright, your Highness?” Steven asked gently, sitting a respectable distance from the prince. James looked at the space between them before deliberately scooting closer until they were side by side. His eyes glance up to his guards, assessing just as Steven had, that they were far from alone.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just wondering how long I’m going to have to suffer the _‘courtesies’_ of my concerned noblemen. Who knew that proving myself a capable warrior would make them all so worried for my future?”

“They have no right to question your decision to enter, or what that decision means for your future,” Steven said hotly, remembering the constant impertinences. “If you choose not to take a husband or a mate, that’s your decision.”

James looked at him, a little shocked. “That’s not why I did it. You know that, right?”

Steven searched James’ face for a clue, but gave in after a moment and shook his head. “You said you were claiming your own hand in marriage, that no one was going to win you but yourself.” He cocked his head at Bucky. “I took that to mean you don’t intend to wed.”

“It means I don’t intend to have my husband chosen for me, and I certainly don’t intend to be _won,”_ James insisted. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to find my mate. Just means that if and when I do, it’ll be _my_ choice. I won that right.”

Steven was silent for a thoughtful moment before responding gently, “That right was yours from the beginning, even if you had to prove it to the whole kingdom. Either way, I’m glad everyone else is on the same page as you now. Or at least the same book.”

He bumped James’ shoulder playfully with his own, before he had time to question whether that was an acceptable thing for a knight to do to his future king. If it was inappropriate, James didn’t seem to mind; he just shifted closer so that his arm rested against Steven’s. It was a subtle thing, but it brought to mind the frosty winter days of their childhoods together when Bucky, always such a tactile boy, would freely wrap his arms around Steve’s skinny frame to keep him from shivering too hard. Now, in the bright summer sun, Steven very, very privately wondered if he’d ever know that kind of casual embrace from James again.

And now that he’d learned that there was a difference between a refusal to be wed and a refusal to be won, Steven felt a little fluttering of hope.

\---

After that, James seemed to make a concentrated effort to include Steven in more of his day-to-day activities whenever possible. He never _required_ Steven’s presence, and never officially summoned him. Rather, he would just appear and ever so casually invite Steven along on whatever the day’s venture was.

That morning, it was a stroll into the village outside of the palace to observe the marketplace. At least, ‘observing the marketplace’ was the official reason, since no one knew precisely what James was meant to be observing. It was more about the people seeing him: healthy and strong and ready to lead, and making him something more than just a face in a distant tower.

Steven was pleased and a little relieved to be invited along on this outing. Logically, he knew that James had an entire entourage of guards that would be traveling with him in a situation with so many unknown factors, but that didn’t stop him from worrying for James’ safety. He was both a prince and an omega, two qualities that unfortunately made him a target for people with ill intentions.

Beyond that, Sam had informed Steven that more than a few of the common folk  were less than pleased that the king had spent resources hosting a tournament only to have the prince make a mockery of it at the last moment. All of which meant that there were a great many people in that bustling, crowded, security-nightmare of a marketplace that might not want the best for Prince James.

He was on high alert as James made his way through the stalls. While James spoke to commoners and looked at their wares, occasionally buying something and passing it off to a servant to carry, Steven was searching faces. Which was how he saw the angry-looking man cock his arm back to throw something at James with enough time to shout a warning before the projectile was released.

Steven grabbed James by the back of his shirt but yanked him backwards too slowly, which meant that the object - a rotten tomato, Steven noted after impact - missed James’ startled face, but still splattered onto his chest. James’ beautiful blue silk shirt was left a foul-smelling, reddish-brown mess. Steven felt his face heat with anger as he glanced up from James’ shirt to see the man take off running.

One of the guards took off after the culprit, but was quickly stopped by a wave and a call from James.

“Don’t bother, let him go,” James dismissed, grimacing at the mess smeared on his chest.

“I’m sorry, your Highness, I didn’t see him in time,” Steven sighed in frustration, still glaring in the direction of the man’s escape.

James looked up at him, surprised. “It’s alright, Sir Steven, it’s not your fault. I should be thanking you for sparing me having to wash that out of my hair instead of my shirt.”

Steven looked around to get his bearings and realized that they weren’t all that far from the Pine and Grizzly. This section of the marketplace was familiar to him, so he took James by the elbow and gently tugged him down a passageway to their left.

“Come on, there’s a quiet little well back this way,” he explained. “We can get you cleaned up.”

He received no protest, so Steven led James and his posse of guards - who all looked far more alert now, Steven was gratified to see - to the well tucked behind a row of houses. There was a bench that encircled it, and Steven guided James to perch on it while he brought up a pail of water. He gestured for James’ shirt and received it without complaint, and the prince watched with curiosity as Steven pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and dampened it in the cool water.

“You don’t have to do that,” James said quietly.

He wasn’t really protesting, Steven knew, just stating for the record that this particular kindness wasn’t one he was obligated to perform. Steven dabbed at the stained silk anyway.

They were relatively alone again, since Bucky’s guards ringed around them as far apart as the small clearing would allow, and Steven let his frustration seep past his formality. “You didn’t have to let that man go, either. Why?”

“That man was angry, and he’s entitled to his opinion,” James shrugged offhandedly. “Everyone deserves a say in what happens in the world around them, even smallfolk. But their opinions aren’t always heard the way mine or yours would be. It must be incredibly frustrating.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to assault you,” Steven said hotly, but he couldn’t keep ahold of his bad temper in the face of James’ kindness.

“ _Assault_ is a rather strong word for a tomato,” James countered with a roll of his eyes. “And no, I don’t particularly enjoy getting pelted with rotten vegetables, but I don’t think he ought to be sought out and punished for ‘assaulting a royal’ when his actions were essentially on the level of a child’s temper tantrum. I’ll survive, and maybe the next time someone feels like the royal family doesn’t respect the impact we have on their lives, they’ll remember this and think again. I care. I listen.”

Steven forgot about the shirt for a moment in favor of staring at James with an aching fondness he hoped wasn’t as obvious on his face as he suspected it was. He’d always known that James was kind, of course, since they were children and he’d helped Steve fight his way out of more scrapes than he could count. But this was a new level of gentleness and understanding, a more mature one. It was enough to make a man fall in love all over again.

James bore the weight and intensity of Steven’s gaze for a long moment, then tilted his chin at the shirt in Steven’s hands with a soft smile. “What do you think? WIll it survive?”

Upon investigation, Steven grimaced. He didn’t have much hope for the shirt to begin with, but had felt compelled to at least _try_ to save the beautiful fabric. His efforts were in vain, however, and the silk clearly ruined.

“A lost cause,” he reported mournfully. “Next time it might be better to leave you where you are. I could probably wash your hair out far better than this.”

“I’m sure that you could,” James said with a lazy smirk. That expression had Steven instantly picturing James curled in a tub with his head tilted back, letting Steven ease suds through his long hair until he smelled only of winter warmth again.

Steven fought the pang of longing that welled in his chest and instead pulled off his shirt as well. “Here,” he said, offering it to James. “Take mine. It wouldn’t be fitting for you to be seen running around in public half-naked.”

James raised an eyebrow but accepted the garment, pulling it over his head. It was too big on him, but James didn’t seem to mind needing to roll up the sleeves a few times. He turned his head and sniffed at the fabric covering his shoulders, and grinned as he exhaled.

“I’ll be reeking of pinewood and rivers by the time we get home. You’re going to get the old gossips in a tizzy, Stevie, trying to scent me like that.”

One of the guards’ heads whipped halfway around at that, his professionalism strained by hearing that someone was attempting to scent his charge, probably wondering whether he needed to step in and tell Steven to back away.

“I’m not! I wasn’t trying to scent you, your Highness,” Steven said, red-faced to the prince’s insinuation and use of his old nickname, and the eavesdropping guard. “That wasn’t my intention at all.”

“It’s alright, I know,” James assured him, and the expression he leveled at the nosey guard clearly said _butt out, I’ve got this._ The man looked away quickly, eyes back on the perimeter. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to smell like you all day anyway,” he murmured, for Steven’s ears only, and he didn’t sound terribly bothered by it.

Steven’s stomach fluttered. It didn’t sound half bad to him, either.  
  


* * *

  
The following week was awful for James.

There were still lingering alphas from the tournament hanging around the palace, and tensions started to run high. There were too many dominants in too small of a space, with competition still thrumming in their blood, and it was probably at least a little bit James’ fault for depriving them of a clear victor.

Yes, _technically_ James had won, but in the eyes of a bunch of overzealous alphas, there could be no peace without one of them getting the prize. Alphas liked a clear pecking order, winners and losers, and they were all a little sore about being one great bunch of losers.

James couldn’t wait for them all to just go home already.

It was making it damn near impossible for him to get anything accomplished, since everywhere he went there was another alpha, and James had to watch what he said and did or risk setting off a storm of puffed chests and hormone spikes and _drama._

He was so frustrated, so tired of walking on eggshells, that when someone jogged up behind him in the corridor and put a hand on his shoulder, James shoved it off and snapped a harsh, “What do you want?” before he could process the woodsy river smell on the breeze.

It was Steven, of course, who jerked his hand back as if burned and tucked it safely behind his back as he dipped into a bow.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” he said, face twisting into an expression of concern tinged with confusion. “I didn’t mean to-” Steven cut himself off, probably trying to figure out how to finish his sentence, considering he’d done nothing to apologize for in the first place. “I’ll leave you be,” he finally concluded, turning on his heel and hurrying back the way he came.

James wanted to call out to him, and opened his mouth to do just that, but shut it just as quick. What would he even say to Steven? Apologize for being in a piss-poor mood? Explain to him that he’d had alphas fighting over him all day and it was starting to make his skin crawl? Even if he managed to get Steven to forgive his rudeness, he’d still probably be bad company today.

Not that knowing it made James feel any less guilty in the pit of his stomach, but still.

He saw neither hide nor hair of Steven for the rest of the afternoon, and time passed fairly routinely right up until it was almost time for supper. It was then that James started to hear a great commotion coming from the stables, and people started running. Some ran towards the trouble, others away, but it seemed as if in an instant everyone in the palace was moving.

And then there was a young boy, a page, tugging on James’ sleeve with an earnest expression.

“Excuse me, your Highness,” the boy said in a whisper that James could barely hear over the commotion as he bowed low. “Sir Steven Grant sends his regards, and says that if you’re as in need of rescuing as he thinks, you ought to follow me.”

It took a split-second for James to make up his mind.

“Let’s go,” he whispered to the page, and they take off.

The boy quickly took him to the back of a tavern, where stood waiting was an unremarkable grey-brown mare and a very pleased looking Sir Steven. He was wearing a plain white shirt and breeches with his boots, and a satchel slung across his torso.

“You came,” he remarked when James skidded around the corner. “I wasn’t sure if you would. You seemed a little peeved with me this morning.”

“Not with you, Steven. Never with you. Just… everything else. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“No harm, no foul,” Steven said kindly. “I thought that might be the case. Are you looking for an escape route out of…” He waved his hand vaguely to encompass the chaos of the palace. “‘Everything else,’ as you say? For old times’ sake?”

“Go on then, save me,” he murmured, a real smile dawning on his face for the first time that day.

Steven offered a cloak to James, inappropriately thick for the weather but perfect for concealing a runaway prince, which was a trick they frequently used as children. It had sometimes crossed James’ mind that maybe Steven didn’t remember their childhood days as well as he did, but this, he supposed, was his answer. He reached out and took the cloak, pulling it on quickly.

Steven flashed a victorious smile, then moved to stand next to the bare-backed horse with fingers laced together in a little cup. He was offering James a leg up, and James obediently stepped into the proffered foothold and mounted the horse. He’d barely settled himself there before Steven was grabbing a fistful of mane and with a with a very athletic jump he pulled himself up behind James.

“The reins, if you don’t mind,” Steven murmured behind him, and reached his arms around James’ waist with palms open, waiting for the thin straps of leather to be placed in them. Steven’s breath on the back of James’ neck made the skin prickle, and a little shiver ran down his spine as he obliged.

That done, Steven turned the horse to face his page and spoke with easy authority. “Go back to where you found the prince and shadow his guards. _Discreetly,_ Peter. When they notice his absence, say that you saw him go off with Natasha Romanoff. She’ll keep them chasing their own asses for a good long while.”

“Yes, Sir,” Peter said seriously, eyes alight with enthusiasm, and took off running once more.

“And what about us, my knight in shining armor?” James teased, settling against Steven’s chest as the horse spurred into a trot. “Where are we headed?”

They navigated the back alleys carefully for a minute before Steven answered.

“Do you remember that time when we were boys, and we ran away into the forest and got lost? And we had to sit in that clearing for hours and hours until the huntsmen tracked us down with their dogs and dragged us home? That’s where we’re headed, that little secret clearing. I figured it took them ages to find us the last time, so that ought to get you a little rest _this_ time, too.”

It took significantly less time for them to reach the spot on horseback than it had on the stubby legs of boys so many years ago, but James wouldn’t have minded if it had taken the rest of the day.

As they reached their destination the trees and shade of the deer trail they’d been following gave way to thick grass and evening sunlight. Steven slid off the horse behind James just as smoothly as he’d got on. He let James dismount by himself, a gesture James appreciated. Any other alpha would have taken the opportunity to try to lift him off the horse like he was a helpless damsel instead of a prince who’d been riding horses almost since before he could walk.

James’ feet hit the grass with a thud that sounded like freedom.

It really was a beautiful clearing, wide and bright and covered in patches of wildflowers in the height of summer like this. The sky was James’ favorite shade of intense blue, with puffy white clouds drifting gently by. It was perfection.

He turned to tell Steven as much, to thank him for whisking him away from the chaos of the palace in favor of this absolute peace, and found Steven unloading several small bundles from his satchel. One of them turned out to be a neatly folded blanket, which Steven unfurled into the breeze and gently settled on a patch of soft grass.

“What’s this?” James asked in surprise, gesturing to the blanket and the many neatly-wrapped packages.

“You didn’t think I’d steal you away and not bring along some supper, did you?” Steven scoffed. “I’m a better strategist than that. It’s a picnic, obviously.”

James felt his heart warm. “I was a complete ass to you this morning, and you repay me by helping me slip my guards and escape the palace for some privacy, complete with a picnic?”

“Well,” Steven said, the tips of his ears pinking, Pretty much, yes.”

“You did all this for me?”

“Anything for you,” Steven replied at once, eyes bright on James’, the same shade as the sky.

His voice was so full of sincerity that James had to look away to catch his breath. The horse was beginning to wander away, nosing at the flowers off to one side, and after a moment James cleared his throat.

“Uh, shouldn’t you tether her? There’s no fences out here and it would be a long walk back to the palace if she decides to return to the wild.”

Steven looked up from where he was unwrapping a hunk of cheese and placing its cloth carefully on the blanket. “Who says we’re going back to the palace?” he said teasingly.

“Don’t tempt me,” James replied, heart fluttering just the tiniest bit.

His response seemed to please Steven, who smiled, glanced absently at the horse, and shrugged. “She won’t go far,” he assured James, unwrapping a bundle of sausages. “Not old Star. She knows to stay where she’s put, and in return I let her have all the sugar cubes she wants.”

At his words, the mare trotted back over like she actually understood and nosed at him until Steve sighed heavily and produced a cube for her to take from his palm. “Spoiled brat,” he grumbled, and received a lick on his ear for his impertinence.

James grinned at the exchange. “You’re an unlikely sort of pair. I’d have expected something flashier for a knight like yourself, riding around in your dramatic blue armor and _almost_ winning tournaments.”

“The blue was my squire’s idea,” Steve laughed. “And Star may not be flashy, but she’s the best horse you’ll ever meet. She’s been with me since before I earned my knighthood, and has always been faithful and brave. Saved my hide a couple of times, even. I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”

James felt a sudden rush of fondness for his old friend, a warmth that came from the reminder that Steven had always been fiercely loyal to whatever man or beast earned his high regard. He’d seen Stevie jump into a river after a kitten once at the age of seven, risking his life for that bedraggled clump of fur. It shouldn’t come to a surprise to him that even now, as a grown man, Steven would care more about the heart of his horse than how it looked carrying him into battle. James’ heart gave a little squeeze.

“Let’s eat! I’m starving,” He suggested before he could get lost in thoughts of how Steven’s gentle heart had grown with him from a scrawny kid to a good man. “Is that... _how_ did you get your hands on mincemeat pie?” he crowed in delight, all but snatching the last parcel from Steve and inhaling deeply. “It’s my favorite, but they never serve it over the summer. God, I haven’t had this since the lake thawed. How did you know?”

Steven turned red for some reason. “I didn’t,” he confessed. “I just thought… It made me think of you.”

James didn’t press the issue, instead choosing to dig into his favorite dish. He seated himself next to Steven in the middle of the blanket, their thighs pressed together, unable to deny himself the closeness in the fragment of privacy they’d finally managed to steal. They sat in companionable silence for what seemed like ages just enjoying the feast.

They were down to the last few hunks of bread when Steven declared himself too full to eat another bite and flopped backward on the blanket to stare up at the sky.

“Wow, do the cooks here earn their keep,” he groaned, rubbing his stomach with satisfaction. “I don’t remember everything tasting this good when I was a kid.”

“That’s because you were always sick with something and only ever had broth,” James snorted. He looked at Steven, who was sprawled on his back with his arms stretched wide, and decided he didn’t care much about propriety. He lay down by Steve’s side and pillowed his head on Steve’s arm, feeling the circlet slide from his brow and fall into the grass. He let it stay there.

All things considered, it wasn’t as intimate a touch as James could remember them sharing, once upon a time. They just laid there in the fading sunlight, side by side, carefully looking at the ever-shifting reds and oranges of the sunset sky instead of each other. It was a far cry from their winter nights curled up together and innocent boyhood kisses, but it still made James’ heart beat faster. It was more than he’d had with anyone in a very, very long time.

He felt Steven turn his head to look at him, but he didn’t dare look back.

“It was simpler back then, wasn’t it?” Steven murmured, and James’ breath caught. Apparently he wasn’t the only one half-lost in memories. “Back when we were just Steve and Bucky instead of Sir Steven and Prince James. Everything was so easy, back then.”

James smiled at the sky, a little sadly. A pink wisp of cloud drifted across his vision. “I miss being Bucky.”

“You’ll always be Bucky to me,” Steve said. And it was _Steve_ who said it _,_ that sweet, true soul that had been his companion since they were small. “That’s how I always remember you. My Bucky, my best friend.”

And then Bucky did turn his head, their faces mere inches apart. It took him a few startled breaths to remember where he was, so close to those summer sky eyes. “Why did you come back, Steve?” he whispered.

Steve’s brow furrowed. “I don’t… What do you mean?”

“When you got the invitation to the tournament, why did you come?” Bucky pressed, then sighed when he didn’t see the confusion leave Steve’s face at all. “When I first saw you at the arena, an alpha and a knight, fighting for my hand, I was relieved. You were someone I knew, someone who had always been good to me. It was comforting to know that not everyone there was someone I’d be miserable with for the rest of my life, if things didn’t work out with my plan.”

“‘Not miserable,’” Steve echoed with a small smile, considering. “I’ve certainly heard worse.”

“But I just wondered…” Bucky trailed off, swallowing hard. “Well, to be honest, everyone else there just wanted to win me as a trophy, a prize...I thought you were rather above that philosophy.”

Bucky could see Steve blush deeply, even in the dying light. “Honestly?” Steve asked, and Bucky nodded. “I wasn’t really fighting to win _you,_ I was fighting for the chance to _ask_ you. I never would have expected or forced you to surrender, just because a tournament bracket said so. And if you’d said no, at least I would have proved myself as a knight worthy of being in your service. I figured maybe you’d have an opening in your personal guard I could fill. Pay you back for all those times you kept my ass out of trouble when we were kids.”

“You’re kidding me,” Bucky laughed. “There’s no way you’d fight an entire tournament just so you could silently follow me around all day.”

Steve pulled his arm gently from beneath Bucky’s head so he could roll onto his side and prop his chin on one hand. “Come on, Buck,” he grinned, “you know me better than that. I’ve picked fights for far less important things than the opportunity to be around you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed, aware once more of just how close they were. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the crooked smirk in the corner of Steve’s mouth. “I know you better than that.”

A silent breath passed between them and then Steve was leaning closer, the blue of his eyes suddenly darker as his pupils grew wide. He was just a breath away when he stopped, his gaze searching Bucky’s face. He was looking for something, for reciprocation and permission.

Bucky didn’t make him search long. He closed the space between them and kissed Steve with all the emotion that had been welling up inside of him since the moment at the banquet when Steve said he wanted to stay and get to know the man Bucky had become. Hell, since before that, since he’d watched Steve depart the palace one autumn day to go take care of his estate and never come back.

Steve kissed him back with enthusiasm, like he’d been starving for it, and maybe he was. It had been an awfully long time since they’d been close like this. However, unlike those innocent kisses, this one had _passion._ This one had teeth that teased at Bucky’s lower lip and had tongues that sought the taste of each other’s mouths. These kisses came with hands fisted in shirts and bodies pulled together, trying to close the distance between them.

After a few minutes of frantic clutching, Steve rolled onto his back and pulled Bucky along with him until Bucky was draped across his chest. “Is this okay?” he asked, ever the gentleman.

It was more than okay, Bucky thought to himself, but he could only nod. He shifted a little to get comfortable, his knees planted on either side of Steve’s waist. He cupped Steve’s jaw and stroked with his fingertips, exploring the planes and angles of the face he’d spent so much time staring at these last few weeks.

Steve’s hands were holding onto Bucky’s waist. They didn’t wander, and Bucky almost thought that Steve could be unaffected by their kisses, if it weren’t for the way his hands gripped Bucky just a touch too tightly, and the way his breaths were a little too ragged.

Bucky trailed a hand from Steve’s face to his neck, his chest, and those broad shoulders. He continued down those thick, muscular arms that had damn near destroyed him in battle, which tensed under Bucky’s palm, firm and taut and--

“Ah!” Steve yelped in a distinctly un-alphalike manner, his arm jerking under Bucky’s touch. “Go easy on my battle wounds, will you?”

“So dramatic,” Bucky huffed, though he made sure not to put any weight on that spot again. “I am sorry for that, by the way. I didn’t actually mean to hurt you.”

“You nearly took my arm off, you brute,” Steve solemnly intoned.

“Yeah, and it’s really hindered your life since then.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to be sincere here, and you want to whine. You’re just mad that a little old omega like me kicked your ass.”

A grin broke out over Steve’s face. “You cheated! You had an unfair advantage. I had a shot at winning until I scented you. It’s not my fault you smell so damn good.”

“Oh, do I?” Bucky said innocently, leaning in close so that his scent gland was exposed just inches from Steve’s nose. “I had no idea.”

Steve didn’t even pretend to try to resist the bait, just leaned in and inhaled long and deep. “You smell amazing, like-” He cut himself off, brow furrowing in confusion, then took another, sharper sniff. “You smell different,” he amended, inhaling again. “You smell... _more._ Maple logs in the hearth, and honey toast,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering closed a little further with each breath.

“Ah, shit,” Bucky sighed, rolling off of Steve at once. “We need to stop.”

Steve looked stricken, sitting up and fisting his hands on his legs as if to stop himself from touching Bucky at any cost. “What’s the matter? What did I do?”

“It’s not your fault, it’s my heat. I’m due to start in a couple of days. We should probably cool off.”

The light was all but gone now, though the full moon provided enough ambient light to show Bucky that Steve’s cheeks were darker than before.

“Oh. _Oh,_ so that’s why you smell so… homey. That uh, that makes sense.”

“Right,” Bucky mumbled, probably a little flushed himself. “So unless you want me going into heat right here in the middle of the forest, you should probably stay on your side of the blanket for a minute.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

They laid in silence, both trying to calm their breathing. After a few minutes, a flicker of light in the trees had James instantly on his feet and wishing fervently he had his sword. “Someone’s coming,” he said lowly, urgently. “Might not be a friendly face.”

“It’s alright,” Steve said, rising much more slowly, stretching his limbs as he did so. “That’s our rescue party. I was wondering if she’d find us,” he added in a murmur, a pleased smirk on his face. “Not that I should have doubted her. Nicely done, Kate.”

The figure was approaching on horseback and leading another horse behind her. She was too far away to have possibly heard the quiet praise, but she looked smug in the moonlight all the same. Bucky recognized her as the squire that had been assisting Steve the day of the tournament.

 _“There_ you are, Sir Steven!” she exclaimed as she dismounted. “Could your instructions have been any more vague? Good evening, your Highness,” she added formally, bowing to Bucky.

“Good evening,” he returned. Her words prompted him to look around for his circlet in the grass with a sigh. Back to duty, then. Steve found it first and pressed it into Bucky’s hand with a quiet, apologetic look that said he understood the weight of it.

“I didn’t _intend_ to be vague,” Steve said to Kate as Bucky adjusted the ring of metal on his head. He started to gather up the items they’d left strewn on the ground and tuck them into Kate’s saddlebags. “I just haven’t been here for twenty years. But that’s alright, the extra time was much appreciated.”

“I’m sure it was,” Kate mumbled, probably not intending for Bucky to overhear, taking a sniff at her Lord Knight. “You two reek of each other, you know. Clean shirts in the other bag.”

Steve grumbled something about ungrateful, impudent teenagers as he dug into the bag indicated and pulled out two shirts. One was plain white cotton like the one he was wearing, the other a fine blue silk that looked exactly like the one that had been ruined at the marketplace a week before. Bucky raised an eyebrow when Steve offered it to him.

“Owed you a new one anyway,” Steve mumbled, abashed, “For not getting you out of the way in time.”

Bucky took the shirt without further protest and exchanged it for his old one, though he immediately resented the fresh, clean fabric simply because it didn’t smell like Steve. Kate helped them pack all the evidence of their picnic away with brisk efficiency.

“Natasha and the others kept your guards busy all evening,” she informed Bucky. “So no official search parties have gone out looking for you yet. I’m sure you noticed some commotion in the palace this afternoon?”

“Just a little,” Bucky intoned wryly. “Enough to turn every member of my guard into bumbling idiots, certainly.”

“I enlisted a little help with the distraction,” Steve explained, his smile satisfied. “Someone set all the horses in the stables loose around the palace grounds and cause chaos. You and I both owe a guy named Clint a big favor.”

Bucky snorted. Honestly, he should have known. “Oh, I’m very familiar with Clint. That’ll make _two_ favors I owe him.”

“And if anyone asks,” Kate added, “Which I’m sure they will, Star bolted in the stampede and Steve wanted to give chase. His Highness, being noble and valiant as he is, of course offered to accompany him on the fastest horse available.” She gestured to the spare horse she’d brought along, which looked remarkably like Star if you didn’t look too closely.

“That’s why we rode bareback out of the palace together,” elaborated Steve. “In case anyone saw us. They’d think they’d seen us on your horse chasing Star instead of… well, running away on her.”

Star gave a very unimpressed whinny that made it clear what she thought of cover stories involving her being a coward and abandoning her knight.

“So now,” Bucky said slowly, picking up the thread of the story, “We’ll ride back into town with both Star _and_ this horse, and everyone will think that we’ve been out looking for her.”

“Exactly.”

“But you got lost and needed Steve’s trusty squire to come and track you by lantern light, apparently,” Kate added peevishly, “Since you had me out here wandering in the woods for _hours_ looking for you.”

“And a fine job wandering you did,” Steve said serenely. “You ought to know the way back by now, so how about leading the way?”

Kate obligingly started to head towards the trail they’d taken to enter the clearing, and Steve offered Bucky a leg up just as he’d done a few hours before, though this time onto Bucky’s horse instead of his own. Bucky settled in and watched Steve mount Star with that same lithe toss of his body, a little put out. He’d miss Steve’s presence behind him on the journey home, although he knew that for his hormones’ sake it was better this way.

Before he knew it the capital city came into view, and the trio made a beeline for the tavern. They made a big show of returning Star to the stable and looking exhausted and harassed, as though they’d really spent hours wandering in the forest in search of an unruly mare instead of stretched out in the dusky sun kissing each other senseless.

“Thank you for your help, your Highness,” Steve said formally as they finished stabling Star and stepped back into the night.

Even there, where it felt like the stars were the only ones watching, they couldn’t let themselves be the same people they were when alone. Steve knew. Bucky knew.

It still hurt.

“Of course, Sir Steven,” Bucky returned. He couldn’t help but pull Steve into the shadow of a hay bale where even the light of the stars couldn’t touch them. “Remind me of my name one more time,” Bucky pleaded in a whisper. “One more time for the road.”

“Bucky,” Steve said instantly, taking the prince’s face in his hands and pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. “My Bucky.”

It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would have to do.

...For now.

 


	4. And Don't Ever Want To Be Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many, many thanks to:
> 
> GoldBlooded:  
> -cobaltmoony for the gorgeous art and patience with my ridiculous creative process  
> -stfustucky for her innumerable contributions  
> -chicklette for the beta and hand-holding  
> -RBB Mods  
> -The amazing support system while writing
> 
> cobaltmoony:  
> I want to thank artgroves for well, everything really, thanks for being there when I lost patience with these arts and thank you RBB mods for arranging such an amazing event!! And to my author Goldblooded for writing such amazing story for the arts!
> 
> This has been a wild ride and now that it's over, I'm very pleased with the overall piece. Hope you are too. <3

When Bucky made his way down to breakfast in the dining room the next morning, he was still floating. Not even the lonely trudge from the inn to the palace the night before had been enough to dampen the secret knowledge keeping him warm in his chest: he and Steve had _kissed_.

They kissed the way that Bucky had wanted since he saw that stupid, surprised look on Steve’s face during their battle when he scented Bucky. He'd been able to _touch_ Steve, away from the prying eyes and curious ears of the palace and the city.

Bucky wanted more, and doubted that he would ever _stop_ wanting more, but at least the memory could keep him afloat for now.

The previous evening, on the journey back from the forest, they agreed that it would be, in a word, _inadvisable_ for Steve and Bucky to see each other again until Bucky's heat had run its course. One wrong touch, or word - hell, one wrong _look_ from those eyes of his - might set Bucky off prematurely. The last thing Bucky wanted was to turn into a wet, quaking mess on the training field because Steve used the same arms that had once held him to punch a guy’s lights out.

The result was not being able to see Steve for the next four days or so, which was hardly ideal. Unbonded omegas of royal lineage were, traditionally, supposed to endure their heats alone. Bucky chalked it up to yet another thing he could blame on the crown and tried his best to let it go.

He was barely paying attention to the conversation around the breakfast table, though no one really seemed to notice. His father was going on about a meeting he had with some nobleman or other, and it wasn't until Bucky heard his own name that he lifted his gaze from his plate and listened.

“He was really very impressed with your performance in the tournament, James,” his father said, spearing another sausage from the platter before him. “As everyone is, of course. You must have had some job trying to keep all of that practicing under wraps. For a good cause though, I'd say. Point very well proven.”

While everything the King had said thus far was complimentary, Bucky felt suspicious and narrowed his eyes. He sensed a ‘but’ coming.

“I'll have to thank Lord-” Bucky looked at Becca for help, and she mouthed the name at him behind her glass of juice, “-Coulson the next time I see him,” he said politely.

The King nodded his head and murmured agreements, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Of course, everyone fully supports the fact that you've earned your right not to have an arranged marriage.”

Bucky gritted his teeth. _Here it comes._ “That's good, I worked hard for that right.”

“Though obviously, just because you've won the _right_ to refuse marriage doesn't mean that you _should_ refuse marriage,” his father continued carefully.

And there it was.

Becca choked on a mouthful of her juice. Even their mother looked startled by this turn of conversation. But Bucky, who had been expecting it for a few weeks now, just leaned back in his seat and leveled a cool gaze at his father.

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Now don't take that tone with me,” his father said with a sigh, laying down his fork. “I knew you'd get all up in arms about this. All I'm saying, James, is that I'm sure you’ll eventually realize how much happier you'd be with an alpha, a husband to care for you. You've proven well that you don't intend to have such a man chosen for you. But perhaps you shouldn't outright dismiss all of these eligible alphas who came to seek your hand. This is time that could be spent surveying your options.”

“And let me guess,” Bucky said wryly, “You have one or two that you suggest I _survey_ in particular?”

“As a matter of fact,” the King began, and this time Bucky, his sister, _and_ the Queen all groaned in unison. The King continued over their protests. “I think you were wrong to dismiss Lord Rumlow out of hand. He's everything you could want in an alpha, and a partner too. You're going to be sitting on the throne someday, James, and Brock Rumlow would be the right sort of person to have sitting by your side.”

As much as it was phrased as a suggestion, the King's voice had a definite air of command to it, and that more than anything had Bucky's temper flaring suddenly.

“Lord Rumlow,” he said scathingly, “Is an absolute _ass_. I wouldn't have him next to me as I sat on a chamber pot, much less a throne.”

Bucky registered the sound of his mother gasping her shock at the crass nature of his language, but he can't find it in himself to be bothered. He pushed his chair back with a screech and stormed out of the room, leaving the sound of his mother’s affront, his father’s rage, and his sister’s side-splitting mirth behind him.

Bucky made a beeline to his quarters, and anger simmered beneath his skin. The idea of Rumlow as his husband, as his _mate_ , felt like it was burning his insides. At least after his tournament victory he could never be forced into such a pairing, and he sure as  _hell_ would never choose it.

He slammed the door to his chambers with far more force than was strictly necessary. He was heated to his core imagining what might have happened if he’d lost the tournament, forced to let someone like Rumlow touch him and take him against his will. It would be immeasurably _wrong_ to have those hands on him, to have any hands but _Steve’s_ on him-

Once his thoughts turned to Steve, the fire beneath his skin spiked hotter instead of receding. And then Bucky realized that it wasn’t anger making him boil.

It was his heat arriving early.

“Oh, great,” Bucky groaned, yanking on the cord to summon a servant to his quarters. He’d need supplies brought immediately, before it became too uncomfortable or too dangerous for anyone to enter.

He figured he had a maximum of two hours before having clothes touch his skin was unbearable. He needed to work _fast._ The servant came and he gave the frightened-looking girl instructions to bring the usual heat rations to his rooms, as well as to inform his family that he would be indisposed for a few days. The guards were instructed that no one was enter his chambers until Bucky himself gave orders otherwise.

His commands were, mercifully, followed exactly and promptly. A little while later, the crates were brought to his door, containing a variety of foods, several changes of sheets, fresh towels and rags, and several heavy wineskins filled with fresh, cool water.

Bucky tried to hold off for as long as he could, knowing that once he stopped fighting the heat and let it have its way with him, there would be no turning back. Eventually, the thrumming and itching under his skin became too much and he was about to tear his clothes off and crawl into bed when another knock sounded at the door. Bucky was instantly irritated at whoever was on the other side of it.

“I gave specific instructions,” he called as he made his way to answer it, rubbing at the too-rough feel of clothes on his skin. “No one is supposed to be getting past the guards.”

“Well technically, I didn’t,” called a voice through the door, and _of course_ it would be Steve’s. “Apparently, I still know most of the secret passages, especially the ones that lead to you.”

Bucky rested his forehead against the rough surface of the door. “What are you doing here, Steve?” he groaned, grateful the wood was thick enough that their scents couldn’t pass through. Steve’s voice alone was killing him, nevermind if he had to smell that heady bouquet of sunshine and trees. “It’s dangerous. If someone saw you…”

“No one saw me,” Steve said after a pause. “No one knows I’m here. I was told you’d be indisposed for a few days, so I just wanted to see you one more time before we had to be apart. Can I… can I come in?”

Bucky should say no. He should absolutely, firmly, resoundingly say _no._ Opening the door right then would be a terrible idea, Bucky knew that.

But it was _Steve_ on the other side, sounding so forlorn and innocent and Bucky had always been a sucker for the puppy-dog eyes he knew were staring him down from the other side of the wood. He never had a chance of resisting, honestly.

The rush of air caused by the door’s motion as it swung wide caused their scents to mingle like a storm between them, and Bucky had to clap a hand over his mouth and nose to stifle the smell.

Steve, for his part, had his hands wrapped around the doorframe on either side in a white-knuckled grip. It was as if he had to forcefully hold himself back from being sucked into the room.

“Shit,” he ground out, eyes shut as he inhaled the scent of Bucky in full heat.

“Yeah,” Bucky managed to reply eloquently. He wanted Steve to rub his throat on every inch of Bucky’s body until he smelled like sweet summer alpha in every pore.

“Did I do that to you?” Steve asked, dragging his dilated eyes open to look at Bucky. “By showing up here?”

“Yes. No. Kind of? Oh, just shut up and get in here before the whole palace starts to reek of heat.” Steve hesitated until he added, “Do you want a bunch of alphas trying to claw their way up this tower to get to me?”

At that, Steve was through the door and slamming it behind them in an instant.

“No one will get to you,” he promised darkly, fiercely, in a way that unfortunately went straight to Bucky’s cock. “I’ll stand outside your door and fight them off myself if I have to.”

“So gallant,” Bucky tried to snark, but the humor was swallowed up by the lust that surged through him at the mental image. “But really, as much as I want you here, you need to _go._ It’s about to get worse.”

“ _Worse?”_ Steve looked alarmed.

Bucky nodded. “So much worse.”

“Well…is there anything I can do to help you? Do you need anything? What can I do?”

Bucky backed himself into the wall, legs turning quivery. He was overwhelmed with Steve’s summer forest scent, and Steve’s earnestness in Bucky’s time of need was _not_ helping.

“Look, there’s only two things you can do for me, and you gotta pick just one.” Steve appeared to brace himself. “You can either get the _fuck out_ and leave me to suffer in peace-” at which Steve visibly wilted, “-Or you can alpha up and knot me until I don’t even know my own name.”

Steve choked. “Wh...what? Are you _serious?_ ”

Bucky leveled a stare at him. “Very.”

“Are you...I mean… will you regret it, after? Or is it just the heat…?”

“No, Steve, I’m not so out of my mind that I can’t consent,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Or at least, not yet. But if you don’t want to-”

“No!” Steve protested. “Trust me, that is _not_ an issue. But...are you sure? You could spend your heat with _anyone,_ it would be a privilege and an honor to…” he faltered, and braced an arm against the wall.

“Steve,” Bucky asked breathily. “It’s pretty simple. I want you. Do you want me or not?”

Steve’s gaze instantly locked with Bucky’s, and it was full of fire and promise. Steve stalked to Bucky and yanked him against his own chest, wrapping his arms around Bucky until he’d caged him in with his body. Bucky instantly relaxed into the embrace and pushed himself impossibly closer.

“I _always_ want you,” Steve growled, and then claimed Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky moaned at the contact, letting Steve’s entire presence consume him. The alpha was everywhere around Bucky: his scent in the air Bucky breathed, his touches shimmering on Bucky’s skin, his taste coming to life on Bucky’s tongue. He was everywhere, and yet Bucky still wanted more.

It was already obvious from the hard line of Steve’s cock inside his trousers that he wanted more too, though he wasn’t insistent about it. It was clear that his focus was on kissing Bucky, mapping the omega’s body with his hands. He touched Bucky as if this was all some sort of dream, and any minute now one or the other or both of them would wake up and Bucky would be ripped from his arms.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky panted into Steve’s hair as he kissed his way down Bucky’s chest, though it only made Steve grip him tighter. He pulled at the hem of Bucky’s shirt in eagerness to expose more skin. It was clear he was making an effort to be gentle, though Bucky still heard a few stitches rip as the garment was tugged over his head. “I mean it, I’m yours. I want this with you. Ever since I first presented as an omega, I thought about the first time I’d spend my heat with someone, and it was always you.”

Steve paused in his exploration of Bucky’s collarbones with the tip of his tongue to jerk his head up and stare at Bucky with wide eyes.

“There’s no way,” he accused, jaw hanging open.

“ _Excuse me,_ I’ll have you know that I’ve never spent my heat with someone before. I’ve saved my virginity for the good and glory of House Barnes, thank you very much,” Bucky huffed, giving Steve a shove to his chest and trying to pretend the blush on his cheeks was all an act.

The alpha allowed himself to be pushed back, though the returned to smooth his hands over Bucky’s chest a second later like magnetism, an apologetic smile on his face.

“No! No, I believe that, I just meant… you thought of me?” He brushed a thumb across each of Bucky’s nipples simultaneously, drawing a gasp from Bucky as he attempted to grind his hips harder into Steve’s. “I was so scrawny and weak, and you didn’t even know I’d be an alpha. Why?”

The heat inside of Bucky was starting to hurt now, and he was tired of the teasing touches and ready for Steve to give him what he needed already.

“Because you were always good to me,” he gritted out, grabbing Steve’s hand greedily and bringing it to rub his cock through his pants just to ease the ache. “You were kind and gentle to me, from the time we were kids. I knew you’d - _fuck, Stevie_ \- I knew you’d take such good care of me.”

Bucky felt his back hitting the wall before he’d even registered that Steve was pushing him back, and then his feet were off the floor and his legs wrapped around Steve’s hips.

“I’m gonna give you everything you need, Buck, gonna fill you up just how you want,” he growled, fingers fumbling at the ties of Bucky’s pants for a moment before he gave up and pulled until something ripped and he could push the offending fabric off and leave Bucky naked in his arms. “I’ll always take care of you, whatever you need,” he promised, grabbing Bucky’s cock in one hot, strong hand and stroking.

The touch drew a moan from Bucky, who gasped when the air he drew in was suddenly scented heavier, like a thunderstorm rolling in across a field. He’d never smelled something that felt like electricity, something that made energy sing in his bones.

“What--fuck, are you in _rut?”_ he groaned, fingernails digging into the skin of Steve’s shoulders. He could feel slick running out of him, slowly trickling down his thighs. Apparently Steve could feel it too, his fingers curling into Bucky’s flesh as the wetness reached his fingertips.

“Wasn’t, until just then,” Steve gasped, almost accusatorily. “Fuck, Bucky, you drive me crazy, you know that?” He shifted Bucky’s weight in his arms so that one hand could move to run reverently over Bucky’s slick hole, two fingers pressing at the entrance firmly but gently.

Finally being penetrated with _something_ was fine and all, except that Bucky had a bonfire under his skin and the time for reverent touches had long since passed.

“So _do_ something about it,” he demanded, and fucked himself back onto the fingers, desperate to be filled with Steve.

He instantly got what he was asking for, as Steve’s digits pressed deeper and drew out, fucking into him in earnest. Bucky’s body was eager, ready, and Steve added a third finger almost instantly. Bucky wasn’t nearly full enough, but Steve curled his digits and dragged them roughly against Bucky’s walls, right over his most sensitive place. The sensation made Bucky arch off the wall with enough force to dislodge him from Steve’s grip.

It didn’t interrupt Steve’s motions in the slightest. He continued to twist his wrist to push his fingers deeper into Bucky, and the sudden shake in Bucky’s legs made him wish he wasn’t standing upright again. Not that there was any room to fall, what with Steve’s body - still completely clothed, and that needed to change very, very soon - pressed against him from head to toe. It ought to be overwhelming, so much sensation and pressure everywhere, but Bucky’s focus was trained on the feeling of Steve moving inside of him.

The stretch of it was different than his own fingers, during heats spent alone and miserable with no one to put out the flames. Before, it had always felt insufficient, a mockery of what Bucky really needed. It was still a tease now, but it was also a promise.

Here was Steve filling him up, moving slowly within him, and Bucky knew that he could have as much as he needed of Steve and more. Steve would take care of him, would fuck him, would knot him, would hold him close and send Bucky tumbling over the edge over and over again. Bucky moaned, his nails opening up little scratches on Steve’s skin.

“Good?” Steve asked, checking in, but he must have known the answer because he didn’t stop moving his fingers.

“So good,” Bucky breathed, eyes shut. He turned his face and nuzzled until he found Steve’s mouth and kissed him, hard. Steve’s teeth bit at his plush lips, more aggressive than any kiss they’d shared before. The passion of his rut was bleeding through Steve’s careful control. It made Bucky want to drive him feral. “Never had it so good before, Steve, I was always missing something. Missing _you,_ fuck-”

He hissed in disappointment when Steve’s fingers pulled away and left him desperately empty, and then had to suffer the additional injustice of Steve taking a step back and removing all of that glorious bodily contact.

He wasn’t disappointed for long, however, since he was soon greeted with the sight of Steve working at the fasten of his trousers and pushing himself free of the fabric until his cock was free and it was _mouthwatering._

“Bed. Now.” Steve rumbled, and Bucky wasn’t ashamed to feel slick between his thighs.

Bucky obliged at once, pulling Steve along with him by the shirt before quickly discarding it, and _god_ was that a good decision. He’d seen Steve shirtless before, that day by the fountain when he’d offered his own to Bucky, but now he could take in _everything._ He could look Steve over where he had crawled to hovered above Bucky on the bed, every sun-kissed, muscled inch of him. And he could touch.

And oh, did he touch. Bucky smoothed his hands over the length of Steve’s body, reveling in the way he felt boxing Bucky against the bed like this. He pressed his fingertips into Steve’s skin and explored the way Steve’s muscles tensed beneath his touch. He paid attention to what places made Steve suck in his breath; which ones made him shudder; which ones made him break his resolve to claim Bucky’s mouth in a kiss once more.

Last spring if you’d asked Bucky whether he wanted some alpha gripping and growling all over him while he was in heat, there would have been nothing but Bucky’s basest biology preventing him from saying no. But this was different than he could have ever imagined - better than he could have dreamed because it was _Steve_ and he needed every touch like oxygen.

Bucky couldn’t help himself any longer and took the alpha’s thick cock in hand, stroking it almost hesitantly. Just as Steve’s fingers had felt different, so did his cock in Bucky’s palm. The shape and weight of it was unfamiliar, but the motion Bucky knew well. It was a headier experience than he’d expected.

As if he were thinking along the same lines, Steve knocked Bucky’s hand away and returned his own between Bucky’s thighs. This time he gently caressed Bucky’s balls. At Bucky’s surprised squirm, Steve’s kisses softened.

“You tell me if I do anything you don’t like, alright? Promise me. I wanna make it so good for you, Bucky.”

Emptied of Steve’s fingers and without Steve’s pleasure to focus on, Bucky felt that familiar fire licking at his veins. “Yeah, alright, I promise,” he said. “Just… c’mon, Steve, I need you inside of me.”

“We’ve got time for that,” Steve said soothingly. He was a damn _liar,_ because by Bucky’s reckoning he was going to combust in another thirty seconds if he didn’t get more of Steve. “I have so many things I want to do to you, Buck. _With_ you.”

That, at least, sounded promising. “Like what?” Bucky asked hesitantly.

Rather than answering, Steve ducked his head down and took Bucky’s cock into his mouth all at once, making Bucky’s hips jerk at the unexpected sensation. Steve’s mouth was warm and hot around him, sucking gently, and the feeling was utterly foreign and potentially addictive.

Steve’s lips dragged up and down his length, the tip of Bucky’s cock running along the inside of his mouth in a way that had him seeing spots. Bucky gasped and tangled his fingers in Steve’s hair probably too rough, though Steve only hummed around his cock in response.

It was an overload of stimulation. Everything in him intensified from the way Steve was wringing pleasure from him with just the little caresses of his tongue, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Steve, I need more,” Bucky said, and what he meant to sound like a reasonable request had come out as a desperate plea. “It’s not enough, please, I just..inside-”

Steve didn’t stop. Bucky had a moment of clarity where he was absolutely certain that if he were to tell Steve no, the man would be off of him in an instant, rut or no rut. He also knew in some distant corner of his mind, tucked behind all his thoughts of _more more more,_ that if he wanted to, he could throw Steve off. He didn’t want to, he would never do anything to remove Steve from his body because he had the promise Steve gave him in the forefront of his mind.

_I’ll always take care of you._

It was just moments later that Bucky’s back arched and he came hard, spilling down Steve’s throat without so much as a chance to shout a warning. Steve rose from his place in Bucky’s lap, pupils wide and dark and looking absolutely debauched. Bucky could see through the vee of his legs that Steve was painfully hard now, little dribbles of precum making a mess of the sheets between Bucky’s thighs.

He didn’t have long to admire the view. Just a breath later Steve had Bucky’s wrists pinned to the pillows on either side of his head and was kissing him fiercely, the taste of Bucky’s release still lingering on his lips.

He lowered his mouth to Bucky’s throat and Bucky instinctively turned his head sideways, baring the most intimate part of him to Steve’s teeth. Steve growled somewhere in his chest at the gesture but didn’t take the bait, instead pressing a kiss to Bucky’s scent gland.

“You taste so good, I don’t ever wanna taste anything else,” Steve moaned lecherously, and Bucky semi-deliriously wondered precisely which part of him Steve was enjoying the taste of more.

The orgasm had taken the edge off of Bucky’s inferno, but it wasn’t enough, never enough. “I need more, please,” he begged, voice half broken with need. “I told you it wasn’t enough, Steve, come _on.”_

Steve had the audacity to give a little breathy laugh. “I know what you told me,” he huffed, amused. He ground his hips down against Bucky’s, his knees tucked in tight around Bucky’s thighs. The feel of his hard length rubbing against Bucky’s made it impossible to soften. “And didn’t I tell you I’d give you what you need?”

Bucky pulled his head back just the tiniest bit so he could glare up at Steve. “Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you’d be so goddamn _slow_ about it.”

He was about to get a smartass reply back, Bucky knew, but he didn’t give Steve a chance to fully formulate it. Instead, he sharply bent one leg and wrapped his ankle around Steve’s leg, then pushed his hips up and rolled to the side, quickly taking away Steve’s balance and flipping him onto his back. He quickly crawled up Steve’s body and sat on his stomach, enjoying the startled expression on the alpha’s flushed face.

“Problem?” Bucky asked challengingly, unable to keep the smirk off of his face.

Steve bucked his hips up so that his hard cock slid tantalizingly between Bucky’s cheeks. “Maybe just one.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Bucky retorted, a little breathy laughter of his own escaping him. He reached behind him to grab Steve’s length, soaking up the little hiss the man made at the sensation. He started to guide Steve’s cock towards his entrance, so slick and ready, and made it all the way to Steve’s tip catching on his rim before a sudden bolt of nervousness halted him in place.The hesitation, however slight, didn’t escape Steve’s notice.

“You sure?” he asked Bucky gently, though his chest heaved and there was hardly any blue left in his eyes. “Don’t have to. It’s okay, Bucky. Whatever you need.”

Bucky melted. “I’m sure,” the murmured back, taking a deep breath before sinking down onto Steve’s cock.

Of all the new sensations that Bucky had felt tonight, this was the most alien, the most intense, and the one that was so wholly _right_ that Bucky had to cry out from it. Steve’s hands were on his waist at once, soothing, questioning, but Bucky just shook his head wordlessly.

He was so full, Steve’s cock not only stretching him wider than fingers had but also taking him far deeper, as if with that one motion he’d taken Steve into every part of his body. He was in Bucky’s blood and his bones and all the way down into his fingertips.

This, _this_ was what he’d been craving every heat for a decade but had never managed, no matter how hard he tried. What Bucky had been missing all along was the feel of an alpha, of Steve, filling him up and claiming him.

It felt like a long time before Bucky remembered to move, and he lifted his hips up and brought them down again and pleasure curled within him, so new and so perfect. Then he did it again, and felt the flames licking at his body shift into something different, something simmering instead of boiling. He was still burning, but it was finally satisfying.

He was home, just where he needed to be.

Bucky pried his eyes open, keeping the motion of his hips steady, desperate to drink in more of the sight before him. Steve’s jaw was clenching, his fingers dug into Bucky’s thighs, and Bucky remembered through the haze of his own lust that he was not the only one whose body was out of control at the moment. Steve was every bit as desperate as Bucky was, and it was intoxicating.

The coil of tension in Bucky’s gut that had been rapidly building since he mounted Steve was tightening up, and Bucky could feel that he was close. He tried to lift up and come back down faster, harder, but the muscles in his thighs were starting to fatigue. For all his strength, the motion was one his legs weren’t used to. His limbs shook with the effort and his power was diminishing. Bucky gritted his teeth and pushed through it, rising and falling and chasing that delicious feeling.

“Steve,” he gasped out, more than a little pleading.

That single word was all it took. Steve’s eyes flashed open and he took in the shake of Bucky’s muscles and the entreaty on his face. He pulled Bucky off his cock and into a rough kiss at once.

“I’ve got you, I promise,” he said against Bucky’s lips. “I’ve always got you.”

Steve rolled them both over, far gentler than Bucky had done. He was back inside Bucky just a breath later, his hips giving a few testing pushes inside before picking up a punishing pace, one that had Bucky’s toes curling instantly. Steve was shifting on top of him, trying to find the angle he wanted, and then his cock was thrusting right over that same spot inside Bucky as before and everything was ablaze.

“Right there, right there!” Bucky shouted, grabbing Steve’s face and pressing their foreheads together. “Please, _fuck_ , don’t you dare stop!”

“I won’t stop, Buck, I’ve got you,” Steve shushed, then groaned as his hips snapped forward even faster. “You have no idea how incredible you are,” he babbled, lips moving against Bucky’s with words that could almost be kisses. “Can’t believe I’m to be the first person to be inside you. Don’t want anyone else to ever feel you like this. I’m the only one, Bucky, _fuck!”_

It was possessive; a verbal claiming, staking ownership of Bucky, and Bucky _fell apart_ for it.

He was coming again, his release shooting onto his stomach and getting smeared onto Steve’s chest. A hoarse moan tore from his lips as he arched and ground harder onto the cock inside of him. Steve’s head fell to Bucky’s shoulder with a cry of his own, pressing harder into Bucky until he felt something swelling inside of him - Steve’s knot.

And just like that, the constant waves of heat started to abate as they lay there locked together coming down off of their highs. The drive was satisfied for the moment, and Bucky’s body eased with the feeling of Steve tucked deep inside him and filling him up just the way he needed. Everything else in his mind was blissfully blank. It was cool and peace and silence and perfection.

After a moment, Bucky was dimly aware of Steve rearranging their bodies slightly so that Bucky would be more comfortable for the next several minutes while they were tied together. Steve laid down on Bucky’s chest, heedless of the mess there, murmuring something to Bucky that Bucky couldn’t quite hear. He just kept stroking Steve’s hair against his shoulder, murmuring nonsense of his own, vaguely to the tune of _thank you, so good, so perfect, Steve._

 

* * *

  
Steve felt whole for the first time in his life, being locked together with Bucky. When at last they could part and he pulled out, the motion was followed by a trickle seeping from Bucky. It made him even more of a mess than Steve had already managed. Bucky pulled a face of discomfort, but didn’t say anything. Steve wanted to fix it anyway.

“Hold on, just a minute, Buck, I’ll take care of it,” Steve assured him, rubbing his thigh tenderly, noticing a few bruises blossoming in the shape of his hands. They probably shouldn’t look so pretty, but Steve was proud of them nonetheless. “Stay right there.”

Bucky rolled his eyes when he thought Steve wasn’t looking, his wry expression belying that he had use of his limbs at the moment. Steve threw him a look of mixed apology and pride over his shoulder while making his way to the crates of heat supplies. He’d spotted them earlier upon entering Bucky’s rooms and guessed their purpose; it was only after a brief moment of shuffling through that he found the water, rags, and towels and brought them back to the bed.

Steve was careful as he wet a cloth and ran it over Bucky’s stomach and softened cock, then down between his legs to the mess slowly ruining Bucky’s fine sheets. He placed a towel between Bucky’s hips and the wet spot and frowned at the other little drips and smears across the mattress.

“Are you going to be too terribly mad at me if I try to get you to stand up and let me change your bed linens for you?”

“Knowing that they’ll just get messed up again? Yes, very,” Bucky answered, but his body is too relaxed for the venom in his voice to have any real bite.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Steve laughed breathily, finally sparing a thought for himself and wiping down his own body. He placed the soiled cloth carefully into a basket of other dirty linens. He climbed back into the bed next to Bucky, an it was uncanny how suddenly he felt unsure and awkward, considering the intimacy of what they’d just done. Free from the rage of chemicals in his brain, however brief, Steve’s nerves wracked endlessly.

Maybe Bucky sensed that, because as soon as he’d settled on his back a respectful distance from Bucky, the prince rolled over into his arms and pillowed his head onto Steve’s chest. Bucky let out a little huff, like he was offended he hadn’t automatically been cuddled in the first place, and nuzzled against Steve’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Bucky said after a few long minutes of silent breaths. “I never… I didn’t know it could be like that. Every time I’ve gone into heat before, it was nothing but miserable from start to finish. I never knew how amazing it could feel. Thank you.”

Steve felt his chest swell up with pride. _He_ had done that, had turned Bucky’s misery into pleasure - but then Bucky’s words sunk in a little deeper and he let out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

Bucky picked his head up to frown at Steve. “I’m not kidding. And it’s not funny, so stop laughing. That shit hurts, okay? It’s always been hell, before.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Steve quickly assured him, reaching up to run his thumb over the wrinkle in Bucky’s forehead from scowling. “I’m not laughing at you, or all that you’ve suffered with your heats. It’s just… _bizarre,_ to hear you thanking me when we both know that I’m the one who should be honored.”

“Oh, give it a rest, would you?” Bucky rolled his eyes. “If this is your idea of romantic pillowtalk, it’s a little stiff.”

“Bucky, I’m serious,” Steve smiled, finding it impossible to rise to the bait. “We just got through fighting a tournament where men were willing to literally _kill_ for the gift you just gave me. I just got to be with you and I didn’t even earn it,” he ended in a happy murmur.

“It’s not that serious,” Bucky said, blushing from the tips of his ears down to his collarbones. “It’s a ridiculous concept, the idea of an omega’s virginity a some sort of prize or bargaining chip. I’m just a person same as anyone else, I’m not as important as everyone thinks.”

“You’re _everything,_ Bucky,” Steve answered earnestly. “Everything.”

Maybe he was too earnest, maybe he let just a little too much of the truth behind his words slip through, because Bucky’s face suddenly went serious again. His eyes searched Steve’s face, almost worried, before he finally whispered, “Why do you like me, Steve?”

It felt like a sucker punch. Bucky said it in the same almost pleading tone he’d used just the day before, on their picnic, when he’d asked why Steve had come home. It was a voice that spoke of confusion, as if he really had no idea that Steve’s entire world revolved around him. There was just a hint of pain in his eyes this time, as if the not knowing hurt him, and Steve made the decision right then and there not to mince his words as he had done before. The truth was what Bucky needed, even if it meant Steve risking everything. He would always give Bucky what he needed.

“Because you’re brave,” Steve began seriously, cupping Bucky’s cheek in the palm of his hand. He reveled in the touch, wondering how many more he’d be permitted to have. “Because you’re smart and fair and kind. Because you’ve never looked down on me, and always trusted me. Because you’ve been my best friend since before I knew how to walk.”

That made Bucky smile, but a small one, a sad one, not the kind Steve wanted to see him wear. “Alright, so those are some good reasons why I’m an excellent friend. Worthy of letters or occasional visit to court. But Steve, you got that invitation and decided to come and fight for the chance to be near me. That’s months of effort. _Why?”_

And again, Steve was laughing from the sheer absurdity of the statement. “Bucky, I haven’t been trying to get close to you for months. It’s been _years._ ”

Bucky’s eyes were round and shocked. “You... what?”

This was it, the moment in which Steve either lied to cover up the depth of what had been growing inside him since they were children, or told the truth and risked ruining the tenuous foothold he had in Bucky’s life, whatever that might be.

Steve took a steadying breath, “Everything I’ve done, since the day of my mother’s funeral, in that grove of lillies the temple gardens... every step I’ve taken has been to bring myself closer to you. I apprenticed under Sir Abraham in hopes of becoming a knight worthy of your personal guard, and I thought…well, I thought if I _won_ the tournament, maybe it could bring me the chance to be even closer to you still. I know I can never be _worthy_ of you, I’m a simple knight, a lowly country baron, and you’re so amazing-”

“Shut up,” Bucky interrupted, sitting upright in his shock. “Don’t you ever try to tell me that you’re not worthy of me, Steve, not when you’re the only person who’s ever even seen me. Hundreds of people live and work in this palace, and not one of them _sees_ me the way you always have.”

Steve sat up too, slower, with sadness in his eyes instead of fire to match Bucky’s. “And that’s a damn shame. They’re missing out. But just because I’m the only one with the sense enough to know you’re more than that crown on your head doesn’t mean you’re gonna love me the way that I love you.”

The breath left Bucky’s lungs in a whoosh, and Steve could relate to the feeling. _Love_. It had been a word they’d thrown around so many times as children, like it was nothing, but now they were grown and it was so much more. He’d thought it so many times with regards to Bucky, had always known it to be true regardless of how certain he was that his heart would be broken by Bucky someday.

Bucky reached out and took Steve by the hand, grip tight, and Steve braced for impact. “You idiot,” Bucky whispered, eyes gentle and a little exasperated. “Steve, I proposed to you when I was six years old. How could you ever think I was anything but hopeless for you? I forgot it for a while, but the moment I saw you again I remembered. I’ve always loved you, Stevie. I _still_ love you.”

Steve stared at him. It did nothing to help him understand Bucky’s words. “You love me,” he echoed, just to make sure he’d heard properly.

“Yes, I love you, Steve. More than I can say. More than I even realized, I think, until right now.”

“I’m _in love_ with you,” Steve protested, suddenly and desperately needing to make Bucky understand that he didn’t mean the kind of love they’d shared so many years ago as children, sharing kisses in their grief. “ _Real love,_ Bucky, the kind of love that makes me want to... to give you everything, god-”

“The kind of love that makes you want to bond with someone?” Bucky asked. The hope in his voice and on the face that Steve loved so dearly were enough to split him in two. Bucky lifted Steve’s hand to his throat and pressed it there. Steve could feel the delicate skin covering his scent gland, could feel Bucky’s thunderous pulse. “To make you wanna be with them forever?”

“In a heartbeat,” Steve breathed, helpless but to lean in for a kiss. Bucky gave it eagerly, tender but desperate, and Steve pulled back far sooner than he wanted to. “You don’t have to offer me that, Bucky. Not just because we’re old friends, and not just because I knotted you. I wouldn’t hold it against you if that’s all you wanted. I know you’ve got reservations about bonding, and marriage, so if all you want is someone to take you through your heats or...make your garden parties a little less awful, that’s okay. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Bucky looked at him seriously, softly, then slowly stretched his neck to the side and bared his throat in the same willing gesture as before. This time, however, he was free from the cloud of heat and fully aware of what he was offering Steve.

“I want everything. I want every part of you.”

Steve couldn’t find an ounce of doubt in his heart for the sincerity of Bucky’s words. There was something quiet about them; they were sincere and achingly true. Steve felt them settle in his soul like an anchor that would keep him grounded just as long as his heart was beating.

He leaned in to cup Bucky’s jaw and kiss him fiercely, then laid a trail of featherlight kisses down his throat. Steve inhaled Bucky’s spiced and honeyed scent and felt possessiveness rumble through him. He placed a kiss over Bucky’s scent gland, and Bucky let out a shaky gasp and gripped Steve’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Steve let out a growl and _bit._

An intense flash of hormones seared up between them in an instant, a rush of adrenaline and happiness running through the pair as they were joined together. Bucky pulled Steve’s head back to seek out another kiss. He pressed trembling fingers to the fresh mark on his throat as he did, running his fingertips over the claim as if he could hardly believe was real.

“You’re mine,” Steve meant to tell him reassuringly. Instead, the words came out with a near-growl of possessiveness and passion that had Bucky moaning. He tried to bite it back as he looked up through those lashes at Steve, and Steve had never seen anything half as beautiful in his life.

He pressed Bucky back into the mattress and spread his legs apart. Steve’s body was reacting to the scent of the next wave of Bucky’s heat, and the knowledge that his omega needed him. He slipped inside of Bucky again, his thrusts desperate and fast. This time was much quicker; the need to knot Bucky again to cement his claim was overwhelming.

He fucked Bucky until his omega was a trembling mess, begging for his knot once more. Steve kissed and stroked him until Bucky erupted in another orgasm and clenched around his cock.  Then Steve spilled inside of him again, and they were locked together and grasping at each other desperately. The words played on repeat in his mind as he settled them into a more comfortable position.

My omega. My love. _My Bucky._

\---

Their cycles lasted a full five days this time, due to the new bond. Steve had insisted that Bucky claim him as well, and when their heat and rut abated on the fifth afternoon, they sported matching bond bites and jellied muscles.

Steve snuck out of Bucky’s suite the same way he had come in, conscious of how strong he smelled of, well, _everything._ He managed to get back to the Pine and Grizzly without too many sideways looks, and was able to prepare himself a bath to get the stench of mating off his skin.

He didn’t want to be away from Bucky, but they needed time to sort things out in their own lives. Steve sighed and changed into clean clothes, humming in contentment as they slid over his skin without making him itch for the first time in days. He made it downstairs just in time for Riley to serve dinner.

“Well, well,” Sam drawled, leveling a glare at Steve. “Nice to see you’re alive and well. Thanks for joining us for dinner after _days_ of us worried sick about you. The hell you been, man?”

Steve grinned sheepishly and absentmindedly rubbed his mark. “Sorry about that, I didn’t really have time...there wasn’t any-”

“What the hell is that?!” Sam asked, staring at Steve’s throat.

The entire tavern went silent, and Steve looked around at the faces staring back at him in shock. Kate, Natasha, Clint, stared at him from the bar, though Natasha’s expression was less stunned and more pleased. Riley had paused, holding two plates, eyes wide like Sam’s. Messers Banner and Stark were at a table with Peter and-

“Miss _May?_ ” Steve said stupidly.

“Hey, Sir Steve,” she said with a wave. “Congratulations on your new mate?’

“Oh, yes, thank you,” he said and cleared his throat awkwardly. Suddenly the tavern erupted in applause and cheer.

“Oh, who can stay mad at you for gettin’ your fair prince?” Sam grinned. He gave Steve a hug and dragged him to a table. “But for real, up and disappearing for days at a time ain’t exactly your style, so we for real thought you were dead.”

“I really am sorry about that,” said Steve apologetically.

“Hey man, don’t sweat it. I’m just lettin’ you know that some changes needed to be made from your demise, that’s all.”

It turned out that Kate had found archery much more to her taste than sword combat, and would be apprenticing under Clint. Steven couldn’t say that he was overly surprised, as she had been spending more and more time at the archery range with Clint. And when she wasn’t, she was endlessly and enthusiastically chattering about the finer dynamics of the bow and arrow.

Peter had made such an impression on Mr. Stark that the apothecary was now his patron, paying for the boy’s schooling. Apparently Peter had an ‘uncommon intelligence, much too useful to be wasted on knight stuff,’ according to Stark. Miss May seemed to agree, and Mr. Stark appeared to have taken a shine to her as well.

And just like that, Steve found himself with no pressing obligations except his new mate. He spent the evening celebrating with his friends and grinning ear to ear.  


* * *

  
Bucky’s whole body was positively covered in marks and bruises from Steve, and Bucky loved each and every one, though none as much as the bond bite on his neck. He lamented that the summertime was too warm for high-necked silks. Instead of wearing the thicker clothing that would hide his throat, he instead wore his usual light silks and opted for a breezy scarf that he played off as a pop of color. He also wore wore his hair down so it might cover any suspicion as well.

He had shown only Becca, who was so enthusiastic she sobbed in happiness onto his shoulder, nearly ruining his scarf. She agreed to provide distraction until such time as Bucky felt ready to reveal his new mated status to their parents.

She also commented that he smelled different. He knew that scents could shift and change upon mating, but hadn’t paid it much mind.

“You smell like...apple blossoms and the lake thawing,” she said into his shoulder. Bucky just shrugged. It could be much worse than that.

\---

Two days after Steve snuck out through the passages, Bucky was walking the halls of the palace in a mood. He was very irritated that some of the alphas from the tournament _still_ hadn’t gone home, he hadn’t been able to see Steve since their cycles had ended, and his father was making noises about him choosing a suitable partner yet again.

Bucky was on his way to the bell tower, in search of some peace and quiet when someone grabbed him by the elbow and slammed him into the wall.

“What the _fuck_ -” he started, and then stared into the snarling face of Lord Rumlow.

“I’ve just about had it with you flaunting yourself in front of me. Don’t you know that I always get what I want?” Rumlow growled while pulling at Bucky’s silks.

Bucky immediately spun out of Rumlow’s grasp and kneed him in the stomach. While Rumlow was doubled over, Bucky scrambled backwards, and his scarf fell away. Rumlow saw the fresh, pink mark on Bucky’s neck and smirked.

“You think that’ll help you, little omega? A bite that new hasn’t settled yet, I can claim you still. Don’t worry, mine will be deeper, like that one never even existed.”

The thought of the evidence of Steve’s love, of their commitment to each other, being erased made Bucky see red. Rumlow moved to grab him and Bucky attacked right back. He heard bone snap and howling; he felt Rumlow cave under him, but he couldn’t stop, Rumlow would _always_ be a threat, he needed to be _gone_ -

Suddenly someone was pulled Bucky off of Rumlow.

\---

He could remember nothing more until his vision cleared and he was standing before his parents in the throne room. Rumlow was on the ground next to him, apparently passed out. Natasha stood by his side, face grim.

“Explain yourself,” King George demanded.

“He attacked me, and tried to force a bond on me,” Bucky said, livid. His parents visibly paled. The thought was so intrusive, and his emotions were running so high, that he started shaking; he couldn’t stop the words coming out of his mouth. “He tried to take him from me, he was going to cover my mark like it never happened, like he had a _right_ , like _anyone_ else has a right…”

His mother was in front of him in an instant, wiping away the tears he didn’t know were threatening to spill.

“Take who from you, my darling?”

Bucky looked his mother square in the eyes, and spoke his truth.

“Steve.”

Her eyes filled with joy and then searched his neck. She tucked back his hair and revealed the bite, and cupped his cheek.

“Oh, my love. I always had a feeling.” She leaned in to give him a hug, and stroked his back soothingly.

“Steven, you say?” his father said pensively. “I never would have thought…”

Everyone in the room gave the king a disbelieving look, his mother the most intense of all.

“It was rather obvious, wasn’t it?” she responded in disbelief.

Natasha stifled a snort. “It was, your Majesty.”

“Huh,” said the King. “Well, a suitable choice, my boy, nicely done. As for _this_ cretin...” he said, anger clouding his features, “What do you recommend, Natasha?”

The spymaster squared her shoulders. “It’s confirmed he was working for King Alexander, and was working on a coup. Taking Prince James as his mate was the first step.”

The King turned thunderous. “Oh, _was_ it?”  


* * *

  
On Becca’s advice, Rumlow was stripped of his title and privileges and sent into exile. He was sent back to King Alexander with a sternly-worded letter from not just King George, but many of his allies who pledged to get involved if King Alexander so much as sneezed in their direction.

Steve and Bucky’s mating was kept quiet for a few months, to let them enjoy privacy so their bond could settle. Eventually, the proclamation was made and invitations sent for their midwinter wedding.

Bucky had worried the kingdom’s citizens might react poorly to him marrying his final opponent in the tournament when he could have been won after all and saved them all a lot of fuss. But it turned out that people are suckers for an epic love story, and more than a few bards composed ballads of the tale. Sam, Clint, and Natasha composed one of the catchier songs themselves, and it became popular the whole kingdom over.

Bucky officially and preemptively abdicated, taking himself out of the line for the throne. All effort that had gone into his grooming and education was now for Becca’s benefit, and she clearly had the spark and temperament for the position of leadership that Bucky never craved. He was much better suited to being second in charge than bearing the mantle of King.

Steve made sure his estate was in order, and vowed to return multiple times a year, but otherwise had moved into the palace with Bucky. Cuddled up in bed together one evening, Bucky noticed that the summery forest smell that had been Steve’s signature now smelled like pine sap and crisp autumn air. It was more delicious and satisfying than he could put into words.

Their wedding was small and intimate, considering the travel conditions. Bucky rather preferred it this way: surrounded by the people that mattered to them the most, celebrating the love that was sparked in midsummer and sealed in midwinter.

No matter how harried or busy they got, Steve and Bucky always made it a priority to put each other and their relationship first. Steve was quick to make Bucky smile when the weight of his royal responsibilities became too much, and Bucky made sure that Steve laughed when brought down by his (now infrequent) illnesses.

Bucky and Steve found joy in every season in their lives, and knew down to the marrow of their bones that as long as they had each other, they could be victorious in anything.

And so they were.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles come together as a verse from a poem by Josh Alker - "Falling For You."
> 
> The line about 'everything I have done has been to bring myself closer to you' is a nod to _Memoirs of a Geisha_ , which is one of my all-time favorite movies and if you haven't seen it, I definitely recommend it.
> 
> We hope you've enjoyed this wild fantasy ride as much as we have! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Come Tumble with us!
> 
> [GoldBlooded](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) (DuelingNebulas)  
> [cobaltmoony](https://cobaltmoony.tumblr.com/)


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